Gathering the Larabees
by Black Rook
Summary: The proud and powerful Larabee family is destroyed and scattered by vicious enemy. Will the survived children of the family find each other through time and distance? New AU set in the Old West. Completed.
1. Prologue

_The guys are not mine and I don't make any profit__._

**A/N** Okay, so this is a new AU. It is set in the decorations and mood of the Old West, but without any references to any historical events, personalities, etc.

_Special thanks to __Tiffany Pena__ for the beta-reading! She is really a saint, and sure has a patience of one!_

**Gathering the Larabees**

**Prologue **

A few people could be seen standing on the hill which served as a north border to Four Corners Valley. A white man of average height, in his late twenties; a slim youth with a rifle, his eyes were constantly checking the area for any immediate danger; and a black giant, in whose arms a little white boy was sleeping.

"Master," the giant called quietly. "It's time to go."

"A moment, Max," the man answered and glanced back along the valley. A town stood in the middle, surrounded by homesteads and small ranches; forest groves, a lake, and a gold mine could also be seen in the surrounding area. It was a rich and hospitable land, which had belonged to the Larabee family until only recently. Until one of the jealous neighbors had finally gotten greedy and ruthless enough to take it by force.

The man sighed. His own name was Robert Turner, and he was a rich heir of long deceased parents. His step-father, though, had been one of the Larabee's distant neighbors; Robert had never cared much for the man but had always adored his little step-sister, Cherry. So, when the girl had fallen in love with one of the Larabee brothers, James, Robert had helped them elope; he'd even given her away at the wedding down there, at the Four Corners church. He'd met all of the Larabees for the first time then; they were good men. _Had been_, Robert corrected himself mentally, swallowing the lump in his throat. A little rough around the edges, like most everyone here, but gifted with a strong sense of right and wrong and with their hearts in the right place. And when they weren't loved by the people who lived on their land then they sure were respected.

Anyway, Robert's step-father had died soon after the wedding, and Robert had finally gained access to his own money. He'd decided to see the world then, to travel for a couple of years before settling down somewhere near Four Corners and starting his own business. Cherry had been happily married and had a husband and three brothers-in-law to protect her, so Robert had left with a light heart. And that had been his first mistake. Of course, there was no way to know for sure if his presence in the area could have altered anything, but still…

Ben Davidson, a neighbor who'd claimed the land of Cherry's father, had decided he was strong enough to take on the Larabees. He'd had a number of guns loyal to him, had hired twice as many more, and had then attacked. Robert had some trusted men in the area, and they had wired him that there were signs of trouble brewing, so he'd hurried back immediately, but by then it had been too late. The battle had already been over by the time he'd arrived. Adam Larabee, the oldest brother, his wife and 5-year-old son had been captured; middle brothers, James and Eric, had been killed. Davidson claimed that the youngest one, Josiah, merely a teen, had been killed, too, but the body was never found. The fate of Cherry and Joanne, the Larabee sister, and their little boys was unknown. And Cherry's Vincent was only a few months old!

And then Robert had made another mistake. He'd focused on searching for Cherry, instead of trying to free the older Larabees; and when he'd realized that was a mistake, it had been too late again. Davidson didn't believe that mercy was a sign of strength; he'd wanted to make a point, to show everyone he was the new owner of Four Corners. He'd wanted to make an example of Adam Larabee; or maybe he just couldn't forget that the man had always bested him in horse races and shooting contests. The man hadn't just killed his prisoner; he'd organized a public execution. And had hired a couple of Indians to perform it.

Robert shuddered. He'd witnessed the execution, standing amongst the crowd, and he was sure he'd be having nightmares for months to come. After that, no one would dare to openly defy Davidson, not for a long time. And that son-of-a-bitch had made Adam's wife and boy watch it, too. Teresa Larabee, though, hadn't given the monster the satisfaction of a hysterical reaction, no tears or begging; she hadn't uttered a sound through the whole process. But she'd fallen down dead the minute her husband had finally been killed. The bastard hadn't dared to kill the child right there, though; his own allies wouldn't have approved of it. He'd postponed that action – and Robert hadn't been slow this time. He'd kidnapped the boy that night – and the smoke which was now rising above the town, was the result of the fire they'd started to cover their tracks.

Robert turned his head and looked at the boy sleeping in Max's arms. Adam Christopher Larabee, Junior, now the legitimate owner of Four Corners Valley. It was too dangerous for him to stay here; they'd be leaving soon. Though two of the most trusted of Robert's men, each one with a personal grudge against Davidson, were staying. They would search for any signs of Joanne, Cherry and Josiah, and at the same time feed the rumors that Adam's son was kidnapped by the Indians. It might be safer to fake the boy's death, but Robert wanted Davidson and the people of Four Corners, to know and believe that at least one Larabee had survived and would return some day for what was his.

Robert reached out his hand and touched the boy lightly. Chris hadn't uttered a sound since the execution, staring out into nothingness, but at least he ate when fed, though very little. Turner took a deep breath; he would pull the boy from this black void. He'd failed his parents and his sister, but he wouldn't fail Chris. He'd raise him as his own, would give him everything a good father should. The boy would be known as Chris Turner from now until the right time came. And then, when he was ready, he would reclaim his name and land, and get his revenge.

"Enjoy your victory while you can, Davidson," Robert hissed, throwing one last glance at Four Corners. "It might not be soon, but one day Chris Larabee will return, and then you will pay for everything you have done. I promise you that."

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_Ten years have passed since the events described in the Prologue _

"Hey, Dad, I'm back!" The tall blond teen dismounted from a huge black horse and ground tied it, then went to greet his father.

Robert Turner, sitting in his favorite big chair in front of the house, smiled broadly at his 15-year-old son. "Didn't expect you back this early, everything okay?" He reached out his hand to be met in a firm handshake; the boy's grip was getting stronger every day.

"Yeah, everything's great! They were buying up our mares like fresh baked goods! I rode ahead, the rest of the guys will be here in an hour or two."

At that moment, a stable boy appeared and started to approach the horse cautiously; Chris waved him off, indicating he'd see to his steed himself. Robert chuckled at the relief on the groom's face. "Okay, take care of that devil of yours and shake off your own dust. Then you can tell me about the fair, over dinner, of course."

Chris laughed, grabbed the reins, and headed off towards the barn; Robert followed him with his eyes, feeling a warmth in his heart. He didn't take Chris's laugh or energy for granted; he still remembered, much too well, the empty shell of a child they'd rescued from Four Corners.

It had taken almost a year, and several visits to different doctors all over the country, before Chris had even started talking. He hadn't remembered anything before the execution, and the event itself remained only as a series of vague images… a source of nightmares. Of course, Robert had needed an explanation for them, as well as for Chris's lack of early memories; an explanation he could give both to the doctors and to Chris himself. An explanation which would agree with the cover story about Chris being his own son from a happy marriage. And so Robert had claimed that Chris had witnessed how his mother had been killed in a horrible accident. It had been as close to the truth as he could get, and it had worked. Fortunately, Robert knew enough about Teresa Larabee to create a truthful image for his boy, and Chris hadn't asked too many questions, even when he got older.

When Chris turned nine, the nightmares had almost stopped, and Robert decided it was time to settle down. He bought some land, a weeks ride from Four Corners Valley, and started the Turner Ranch. A ranch which was now flourishing, breeding both cattle and horses. Robert had never known much about animals, but he was a good businessman and had a gift for choosing the right people for any job, and that had been crucial to the ranch's success. That gift had become even more important three years ago when Robert had taken a bad fall, which had rewarded him with a strong limp. He could walk and ride, but tired easily, so now he preferred to rule the Turner Ranch from behind his desk in the Big House, or, if the weather permitted, from his chair out in front of it.

Recently, Chris had started playing a more active role at the ranch; the boy ignored the cattle, but was very good with the horses. He'd broken Black Storm himself, much to the astonishment of other more experienced riders, who'd given up on the devil.

Robert smiled as he watched his son going from the barn to the house, most likely to change. All of his effort spent on Chris's behalf had been repaid tenfold; the boy was a wonderful son, a son who would make any father proud. Of course, there would eventually come a day when Chris would ride off to face his destiny, leaving Robert behind, but they still had many years before that happened . And maybe, during these years, Chris would succeed where Robert had failed.

After years of futile efforts, he'd had to give up his search for the rest of the Larabee survivors. But he still had some hope lurking. One day, when they had been at a carnival, some fortune-teller had read Chris's palm; she'd promised a lot of things, but among the usual bullshit there had been a prediction Robert had chosen to believe. 'The wolf will gather his pack'. Maybe it was foolish, to build his hopes on a gypsy woman's words, but it was better than nothing.

___

Later that evening, after dinner had been eaten and Robert had been told about the trip to the fair in detail, first by Chris, then by the man who'd actually been in charge of the trip, father and son were sitting together in front of the house. Robert was smoking, and Chris was chewing on a long blade of grass.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Robert asked. Chris had been working really hard the last couple of months, he deserved a break.

"Hall and Fisher are going to Eagle Bend tomorrow, they'll be staying in town for several days. Mind if I tag along with them?"

Hall and Fisher were senior cowboys at the ranch, they'd been there since the beginning. Eagle Bend was a large town less than a day's ride to the west; of course, it held much more interest for a teen than the nearest dust bowl.

"Any particular plans?"

"Nah, just want to unwind a little."

Robert nodded. Chris loved the ranch, but sometimes it became too small for him, and that was natural. At least he, unlike most boys his age, asked for permission and wasn't intending to travel that far alone. Yet. And he'd been in Eagle Bend dozens of times before, he knew the town well enough.

"Okay, if Hall and Fisher don't mind company, go and have fun. And bring me back a couple of new books…"

"…or a bottle of real brandy," Chris finished and they both chuckled. "I will, Dad."

___

Chris, Hall, and Fisher had left at first light, so by midday they'd covered most of the ground they needed to and had decided to take a short halt, to outwait the worst of the heat. The adults started to make things comfortable under the protection of a small group of trees, and Chris went down to the creek to fill the canteens.

He had just filled the last one and was drawing himself up, when he heard a familiar and very unwelcome sound. A rattler. He froze mid-movement, squinted in the direction of the sound and saw the snake, poised for an attack. Not a moment later a shot rang out, and the reptile jerked in place, dead. Chris let out the breath he'd been holding, dropped the canteen from numb fingers and looked up, expecting to see Hall or Fisher. He saw a stranger instead, standing on the opposite bank of the creek; a teen no older than himself.

"Sorry to interrupt your date, pard," the dark haired teen smiled broadly. "But the lady sure seemed pissed."

Chris found himself smiling, too. "Yeah, she was. Thanks."

At that moment the cowboys, alerted by the shot, appeared behind Chris's back with guns drawn and aimed at the stranger.

"Chris, you okay?" Hall asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm all right. That guy there shot a rattler, saved my butt," he pointed at the creature.

The men continued to shift their looks between Chris, the other teen and the snake, until Chris said, calmly and with a ghost of irony: "Guys, the rattler is dead."

"Oh, right." They re-holstered their weapons, but stayed in place, so Chris had to add: "I'll be up there as soon as I finish with the canteens."

With that reassurance, they finally headed back to the horses, and Chris's savior made his way over.

"Buck Wilmington," he said, reaching out his hand.

"Chris Turner," the blond shook it.

"Turner?" Buck whistled. "From the Turner Ranch?"

Chris nodded. "Don't mind Hall and Fisher, they're good men, just still sometimes think I need a babysitter."

Buck grinned. "Yeah, I know how that feels. Where are you heading too?"

"Eagle Bend."

"I'm returning there myself, mind some company?"

"Not at all," Chris bent over to pick up the canteens, and the rattler's body came into his sight again. He had to suppress a shudder; the blond had never cared much for snakes. "In fact, I could use someone to watch my back."

"Thought you hated babysitting?"

"There's a difference."

The boys laughed and started climbing up to join the men.

___

The small company arrived at Eagle Bend early that evening, Chris and Buck already being fast friends. And that really amazed Hall and Fisher; they'd known Chris for some years, and he'd never been so quick to make friends with his peers.

The cowboys were headed to the nearest livery and hotel, but Chris had other destinations in mind, even if he didn't exactly know what they were yet. But Buck was sure to know some interesting places; so Chris asked him to wait a little, while he discussed with his traveling companions a time and place to meet up to head for home.

All appointments having been made, Chris came back to see a stand-off between Buck and three huge guys; it looked like they would come to blows at any minute. Chris hastened his strides and heard the central guy sniping:

"I've told you before, Wilmington, we don't need the likes of you here. Get off to your hole and don't spoil our streets!"

"Go to hell, Mackenzie," Buck spat back, and the guy threw the first punch.

Or at least tried to, because Buck ducked and headbutted him, and they both went down. The guy to the left, probably another Mackenzie by the look of him, tried to hit Buck from behind, but his fist met Chris's palm instead, and a second later he was lying on the ground, seeing stars. (There were some Chinese men working at the ranch, and Chris had always been eager to learn new things.) The third attacker, seeing that both his brothers were down, reached for his gun, but Chris was faster.

"I wouldn't," he said calmly, aiming his own gun at the man's groin.

The bully gulped, looked at the gun, then into Chris's eyes – and decided to back off. He cautiously helped his brothers up, not taking his eyes off Chris, and they slowly retreated.

"Thanks, pard." Buck said, still sitting on the ground. "Guess we're even now."

Chris shrugged. "No big deal." He holstered his gun and helped Buck up. "What was that about?"

There was no reproach in Chris's voice, only curiosity, but Buck's face fell. Damn it, he knew they should have parted ways the minute they entered town. He really liked Turner, but he should have known better than to go and try to befriend the son of the main land-owner in the area. Well, better now than later, and better to say it himself than have someone like the Mackenzie brothers shout it all over the street.

"My Mom runs a brothel in the bad part of town." There, he'd said it. Buck looked at Chris's face, waiting for the usual reaction, but instead of a grimace of disgust or contempt, a little smile appeared.

"Must be a good place then."

Buck gasped. "You… You mean you're okay with that?"

"Why shouldn't I be? Just because my father has money doesn't mean I'm an idiot."

"Chris…"

"In fact, I think I'd like to meet the woman who managed to raise someone like you."

"You serious?"

"Absolutely."

Buck smiled tentatively, still not quite believing what was going on. "Then I reckon you won't need a hotel tonight."

Chris grinned. "Lead the way."

___

The two teens entered an establishment called 'The Brocade Delights' through the back door and started walking up the hidden stairs. According to the sounds, which were heard through the walls and which Buck ignored, 'The Delights' were prospering.

Soon they reached the third floor and entered a corridor; all at once Buck was hit by a small dark-headed whirlwind, who immediately started to chatter:

"Buck! You're back, it's great! Miss Lizzy has a new dress, and she bought me candy! And Miss Blossom caught a cold, but Doc says she'll be okay! And…"

"JD," Buck interrupted. "Breathe." He turned to Chris and added: "Chris, this little tornado is my baby brother, JD. JD, this is my friend Chris. Now, what do you need to say?"

"Hello, Mr. Chris," the boy said obligingly.

"Hello, JD. Glad to meet you."

The boy tilted his head and looked Chris over from head to toe. His eyes lit up when he saw the gun belt, and Buck chuckled, realizing his little brother had just found himself a new hero to worship.

"Okay, squirt, why aren't you in bed at this hour, anyway?"

"I'm going there, honest! You'll come to tell me a story, right? Please?"

"I will, squirt, but I need to talk with Mom first."

"She's in her room. Good night, Mr. Chris!" And the kid ran off, disappearing behind one of the doors.

Buck looked at Chris with some defiance; he wasn't ashamed of the fact that he loved his little brother and spent time with him, and if someone thought it was sissy… but there was no mockery in Chris's smile.

"How old is he?"

"Six."

"Always like that?"

"Not always, but often enough. But he is fun to have around."

"I bet."

For a moment, Buck thought he heard envy in Chris's voice, but he shook that thought away quickly.

Chris did feel a little envy, he'd always wanted a brother, better yet, two or three. He'd often tried to tell Robert it would be absolutely okay with him if the man remarried, but no woman had captured Robert's interest for long enough, and after the accident Chris had stopped hinting. Besides, sometimes he thought he'd had a brother once, one that most likely had been killed with their mother. Maybe one day he would ask his Dad about that.

Buck's knocking at a door stopped Chris's musings.

"Come in," a deep woman's voice answered, and they entered.

Chris saw a small and modest bedroom; a tall woman stood in the middle of it, in a simple gown, with long, fair hair, which she wore loose. Considering she was Buck's mother, she definitely looked younger than her age, and she seemed more elegant than most of the 'decent women' Chris had met.

"Hey, Mom. This is Chris Turner from the Turner Ranch. I met him on the trail and rode back into town with him; he helped me today with the Mackenzie brothers."

The woman nodded, but continued to stare at Chris with a very strange expression on her face. Chris began feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny, and said:

"Merely repaying a favor, Ma'am."

Smiling, she came closer. "Don't 'Ma'am' me, son," she said softly.

Something about her voice, or the way she moved, or her smell was vaguely familiar, awaking the very few memories Chris had of his early childhood and his mother. The woman reached her hand out and without a second thought Chris bent to kiss it.

"Buck's friends are my friends, Chris, and my friends call me Joanne," she said, running her other hand through his hair. A gesture even Chris's own father hadn't tried in the last couple of years, but coming from her it felt natural.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Joanne," he answered, drawing himself up. There was this strange feeling in his heart, he couldn't name it, but… Joanne might be a mistress of a brothel, but if anyone ever mistreated her – then Buck wasn't the only one they would have to deal with.

_To be continued… _


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Three years have passed since the events described in Chapter 1 _

Robert Turner was sitting outside and studying some Ranch paperwork, when the sound of a rider coming disrupted his quiet. The man raised his head and saw Jimmy, the telegraph boy who delivered mail and wires from Ghostville, a small town about half an hour's ride from the Big House. It stood practically on Turner's land and mostly served to meet the needs of those who lived and worked at the ranch.

"Good day, Mr. Turner!" Jimmy exclaimed, then dismounted and handed Robert a pile of letters. Robert took them and quickly looked them over – all business.

"Thanks, Jimmy." he fished a couple of coins from one of his pockets and gave them to the boy.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner. Could you tell me where I can find Buck Wilmington? There's a wire for him from Eagle Bend."

"He should be at the corral with Chris, you know where that is?"

"Yes, sir," Jimmy answered, re-mounting his horse. "Have a good day, Mr. Turner."

Jimmy rode away in the right direction, and Robert followed him with his eyes worriedly. He hoped the wire didn't bring bad news for the guy. Buck had been working at the ranch for over a year now, had been Chris's best friend three times as long, and Robert really liked the jovial youth. He would turn into a fine man one day, if some jealous husband didn't shoot him first, that is.

Of course, some well-wishers had tried to tell Robert, more than once, that Wilmington wasn't proper company for his son, but Turner ignored them. He'd never interfered with Chris's choice of friends before, and wasn't going to do so now; he respected his son more than that. And besides, the boy's intuition on people was better than his own.

At eighteen, Chris had taken over the horse branch of the ranch almost completely; and those who grumbled about taking orders from a brat hurried to carry out those selfsame orders faster than if they were Robert's. Robert chuckled. He knew Chris had taken after him a lot, but it was obvious the boy was a Larabee. A natural leader, fighter and protector. Good thing no one in the area could recognize him, Chris was becoming the spitting image of Adam. Of course, he was still young and hot-headed, and sometimes acted before thinking; but a couple of more years, and he would be ready to challenge Davidson. And win.

___

"Good girl," Buck patted the young and skittish mare he'd just dismounted from. "Good girl. I think she's ready."

"Yeah," Chris agreed. He'd been observing Buck and the mare for an hour now, and yes, that white beauty was ready for sale. "Good job."

Buck grinned.

"Mr. Wilmington! Buck!" They heard a shout, followed by the clatter of hooves.

"Hey, Jimmy, what's up?"

"A wire for you, Buck," Jimmy bent from the saddle and handed Buck a piece of paper. "From Eagle Bend."

Buck read the note and paled; worried Chris asked: "What's wrong?"

"Mom is sick," he crumbled the note. "It's from Miss Blossom, she fears it's serious."

"Then go. If you ride now, you'll be in town by nightfall."

"Chris…"

"Go." There was an authority in Chris's voice now. "I'll manage here. Go and give Joanne my best wishes. And if you need anything…"

Buck nodded, squeezed Chris's forearm briefly, murmuring thanks, and jogged to the barn, followed by Jimmy.

Chris sighed. He wished he could go with Buck, he cared about Joanne a great deal, but he had responsibilities at the ranch he couldn't just shirk, especially right now. He'd try to wrap up immediate things as fast as possible, and maybe he could follow Buck in a few days, if the situation didn't change.

___

It took Chris four days to solve all the matters which couldn't be postponed; in that time, he'd heard nothing from Buck. So, on the early morning of the fifth day since the wire had come, he'd ridden out to Eagle Bend.

He was riding faster than usual, feeling more anxious with every passing mile; his last meeting with Joanne kept replaying in his mind. He'd seen her two months ago, when he'd last been to Eagle Bend, that time without Buck. She had said some things to him then, things he hadn't paid much attention to, but now they looked suspiciously like farewell…

About halfway to the town, Chris saw a familiar silhouette far ahead. For a moment he allowed himself to hope that Buck's returning meant good news; but then he discerned another horse to the left of Buck's grey, with a small figure on it, and his heart sank. The little rider could only be JD; and if JD was returning with Buck, then Joanne was dead. Gasping from sudden hurt, Chris spurred Black Storm.

Any hopes Chris might have had vanished when he saw the appearance of Buck and, especially, JD. The boy, usually full of life and energy, looked absolutely lost. Getting a short nod from Buck, Chris silently turned his horse around and joined up, to the left of JD, as close as was possible.

Torn between his own hurt and sympathy for his friends, Chris tried to focus on the future and more practical things. Buck was one of the best horse trainers at the ranch, and he earned an honest wage; it was more than enough for a young single man. Was it enough to provide for a growing child? The Turner Ranch was a good place to grow up at, Chris knew that from experience, but the bunkhouse Buck currently lived in was absolutely out of the question. Well, they'd figure something out. The most difficult part, though, would be persuading Buck to accept any help from him and Robert. The man sure had his pride – one of the reasons Chris liked him so much.

But the coming night they would all spent in the Big House, there would be no argument about that.

It was already dark when they arrived home after a long and solemn ride. Buck helped JD from the saddle, and Chris had to help with the saddle bags, since the boy refused to let go of his brother. They put the bags on the porch and then Chris whistled, summoning a groom, and charged him with the horses. None of them had enough strength to do it themselves right now.

Buck took out a small package from one of the bags, whispered something to JD, and then turned to Chris.

"I need to speak with your father for a little while, could you keep JD company?" It was the first phrase Chris had heard from Buck today.

"Of course," Chris sat on the porch and opened his arms, inviting JD to sit on his lap. The kid stayed in place at first, but then, after another whispered comment from Buck, he accepted the invitation.

"I'll be right back, squirt," receiving a slight nod from the boy, Buck entered the house.

___

Robert was reading in his room when he heard some kind of activity from the front of the house. He wheeled his chair (a custom-made device used so he didn't have to get up or call for help when he needed something out of arm's reach, it helped to save his energy and rest his legs) to the front window and looked out. Despite the darkness, he recognized Chris on his black and Buck on his grey, and there was an unfamiliar horse with them. Then he saw Buck taking a small boy from the saddle. Oh. Robert knew Buck had a younger brother; the boy must be him. And that most likely meant their mother was dead. Sighing, Robert turned from the window.

Soon there was a knock at the door. "Come in," Robert answered, expecting to see Chris, but it was Buck who entered, with a package tucked under his left arm. Lord, but the kid looked awful.

"Mr. Turner."

"Buck," Robert outstretched his hand and Buck came close to shake it. "My deepest condolences."

"Thank you, sir." Buck looked at his feet for a moment, then raised his eyes, reached out the package he'd been holding and said: "My mother asked me to give this to you, sir."

Robert looked at the package; an envelope lay on top of it, inscribed '_To Robert Turner_' in elegant unfamiliar handwriting.

"She said everything is explained in the letter."

"Then I shall read it immediately," Robert said, taking the package.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner," Buck bowed slightly and left the room.

Robert wheeled to his desk, laid the package on it and opened the envelope. There were two pages inside, filled with neat lines of the same handwriting that was on the envelope. Robert started reading.

_Greetings to you, Robert Turner. I bet I know what you are thinking now, a wealthy gentleman receiving a posthumous letter from a working girl, delivered by her son. But don't worry, Robert, it's not that – we have never shared a bed. But we did meet once; I was a bride's maid in the wedding where you were giving away the bride. _

Robert felt all the air leaving his lungs suddenly and dropped the letter. There was only one wedding where he'd given away the bride – the wedding of James and Cherry. And the bride's maids then had been Joanne and Teresa Larabee. Teresa had died in Four Corners, so… Joanne?

Joanne Larabee, the only sister among four brothers, a wild beauty with a sharp wit and tongue. They had had a few pleasant verbal spars during his stay in Four Corners. And there had been a dark-haired toddler, who'd been clinging to her skirts, when not busy playing with his blond cousin. An energetic boy, whose father had never been in the picture, though it obviously hadn't bothered anyone. She'd called him Will then; Will…Wilmington…Buck?

Having finally managed to take a deep breath and calm a bit, Robert picked the letter up and resumed reading.

_I know I probably shouldn't have waited this long to contact you, but…I didn't want to embarrass you, and I didn't want you to judge, or to try and change, my way of life; you don't have the right. _

Robert rocked his head. Joanne had survived and had protected her boys; he wouldn't have judged her for the way she'd done it. But he wouldn't have just easily let her continue what she'd been doing either, not once he'd found them.

_But I don't want to sound unfair to you; I know what you have done. I recognized Chris the minute Buck led him through my door; I thought I had lost my mind and was seeing ghosts, until Buck told me his name and I understood. I realized what you have done for him, and there are no words strong enough to express my gratitude. And so, instead of the words, I'm sending two more Larabee boys your way. _

_Buck and JD know what happened in Four Corners, and Buck knows he was born there, but they don't know I'm a Larabee. I've been protecting them as you've been protecting Chris. But there will come a day when Chris rides back to Four Corners, and Buck and JD should be at his side that day. Buck is already determined to follow Chris to hell and back, as we followed Adam. It's funny that they managed to find each other on the trail in the middle of nowhere, isn't it? But they used to play hide and seek in the old ruins in Four Corners when they were three, so… _

_I know what you want to ask, Robert, but I don't have the answer. If I had, believe me, I wouldn't have waited this long. All I can say, is that Cherry and Vincent were with the Jacksons when the nightmare began; you might remember them, a black couple, family friends, they'd been patching us up since Adam and me had been hurting our knees and noses playing tag. The rumor was that Josiah made it to them after the main battle, and later they all managed to get out of the Valley. I wish I had some evidence of that, besides pure hope, but I don't. But if they are out there somewhere, Chris will find them when the time comes. _

_I have to finish this, I don't have much time left… So now I'm leaving it to you, to tell our boys the truth when they are ready, and I trust you to choose the right time for that. And I trust you to choose wisely what you will tell them now. Oh, I almost forgot about the package – there are some papers and tokens there which could prove Buck's and JD's identities should anyone ask. _

_And one more thing. You did a damn fine job, Robert Turner. I'll make sure Adam and Teresa will know that. And don't hurry after me, fancy man. _

_Joanne Larabee_.

Robert laid the sheets of paper on the table, feeling tears coming to his eyes. 'Fancy man', that was the nickname Joanne had given him at the wedding – well, his clothes had differed from the average in Four Corners… Joanne… Why had she trusted him with her sons, but hadn't trusted him to do right by her? Why? Three years…

Robert shut his eyes, beating back the tears, opened them, then took a deep breath and let it out. No point in asking rhetorical questions, better focus on those which had to be answered. He would have to tell the boys something, at least to explain the letter. He didn't think it was the time to tell the truth, and Joanne had obviously thought the same – Chris and Buck were still too young to take on an enemy like Davidson, and too impetuous to wait if told; besides, Joanne's death had shaken them enough. But the boys should know that they are related, although Robert doubted that that knowledge would change anything in Buck and Chris's friendship. But if Buck and JD were family, Chris's family, and now that meant his own too, then they should be treated at the ranch as such, and not as just a friend of the owner's son and his brother.

So…Robert's rule was 'stick as close to the truth as possible', and what was the most important part of the truth now? That Joanne was Chris's aunt, and Buck and JD were his cousins. Of course, Robert could state that Joanne was his sister, but…He felt that saying so he would somehow betray Cherry and the chance to find her, however slim it was (alas, Joanne's letter didn't tell him anything new in that regard); it sounded superstitious, but still. On the other hand, who said Joanne had to be Chris's paternal aunt? As he remembered, from his own impression and Cherry's letters, Teresa and Joanne had gotten along real well, and had always backed each other up in any disagreements with Larabee men…

Fortunately, he hadn't told Chris much about Teresa's family; mostly because he didn't know much. So Joanne could easily be Teresa's younger sister, who had run away from home to live a life of her own, but had decided to mend some fences with the remnants of the family for the sake of her boys. That should work.

Robert smiled, pleased with himself and story he'd come up with, but the smile quickly disappeared as the little irritating voice in his head said: '_Some day you'll be caught up in all your half-lies_.' Maybe. But he had no choice.

___

The boys were in the main room, sitting on the big couch. JD was sleeping, curling up with his head on Buck's lap; Buck's hand gently lay on his shoulder. In the other hand he held a mug full of something steaming; Chris, with a mug of his own, sat nearby.

"What do you think this letter is about?" Chris asked quietly.

Buck shrugged. "Have no idea. But Mr. Turner ain't my father, of that I'm absolutely sure. Or JD's. I asked Mom," he swallowed. "And she wouldn't have lied to me about that."

Chris nodded. Buck was his junior by only a few months, and as much as Chris wanted him as a brother, he didn't like the idea of his Dad cheating on his Mom. Or the idea that Robert had abandoned a pregnant woman, no matter her occupation. And not just any woman, but Joanne.

Heavy footsteps, accompanied by the sound of the cane, made them look at the door; Robert entered and Chris twitched to get up and help him sit, but was stopped with a gesture. Leaning on the wall instead, Robert said softly: "Boys. There's something I need to tell you."

___

By the next day, one of the empty rooms on the second floor was being remade into Buck and JD's room, with the idea that JD would soon get his own; Buck tried to object, but Chris, now armed with an argument that they were family, was adamant. And when JD started to show something resembling his usual enthusiasm about remodeling the room, Buck stopped arguing altogether.

Of all the boys, the news, understandably, affected JD the most. It couldn't take away the pain of the loss, but it did allay the boy's fears some. Now they had a new home, not just a place to stay; and nobody would take him from Buck, and he wouldn't create any problems for Buck's job. JD was already good with the horses, at least Mr. Tiny from one of the town's liveries had said so, and he'd been determined to prove to Mr. Turner he wouldn't be a burden, but now he didn't have to. Because you didn't have to prove anything to family, his Mom had said, and she never lied. Of course, he still wanted to help Chris and Buck with the horses, but there was a difference now. And Chris, whom the boy still hero worshipped, seemed to be okay with them being cousins, and Mr. Turner wasn't as scary as JD had thought… For the first time since Joanne had fallen ill, JD wasn't afraid of the future.

Robert observed all the fuss with a sad smile; Joanne had raised good boys, there was no doubt of that. Life in the ranch would certainly become more interesting.

Sighing, Robert shifted his gaze from the activity in the courtyard to the sky. Thinking about Joanne made him remember another woman who, like her, had been truly amazing. Independent, smart, sharp-tongued, and outstanding at poker. A woman he might have proposed to, against all common sense and his better judgment, if the fates hadn't interfered. Just when their light affair had threatened to grow into a serious relationship, he had gotten that wire about Davidson, and had had to leave. He'd tried to write to her when they had gotten out of Four Corners, but she'd moved and he'd decided not to look for her. Most likely, she'd quickly found herself another rich fool.

Robert shook his head. No point in dwelling on the past, he had a future to consider. A future that now included three Larabee boys. Putting Joanne's package and letter into a little cache, together with Cherry's letters and some papers stolen from the Four Corners church, Robert made a resolution. He needed to fix a day, or at least a year, for revealing the truth; so that he wouldn't question and doubt himself everyday about whether he'd do it or not. Well, Adam had been 21 when he had become the head of the Larabee family, and, according to the tales Robert had heard at the wedding, he'd been good at it. So, when Buck and Chris turned 21, he would tell them the truth.

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N Part of the dialogue in the following chapter is from 'Ghosts of Confederacy'__._

**Chapter 3 **

_Seven years have passed since the events described in Chapter 2 _

Hearing the familiar jangle of spurs, Robert dismissed the foreman he'd been talking to and turned to the left. His hearing hadn't deluded him – Chris stood there, in his black apparel with an unreadable expression on his face, both the usual for him these days. Robert gestured to the chair on the other side of his small table; Chris sat down, threw a sheet of paper on the table and said without further preamble:

"Got a wire from Winston Ridge. Anderson's gang was spotted there."

Robert couldn't say if that was good, or bad, news. "You think they'll attack the Seminole Village again?"

Chris shrugged. "The bastard promised they'd return, they usually keep that kind of promise."

"When?"

"The Big Fair will be in three weeks, after it there will be plenty of gold in the village. My bet is that they'll attack then. When are Buck and JD due back?"

"Saturday."

"Good. If we leave a couple of days after their return, we'll make it to the village just in time to prepare a welcoming party for Anderson and his dogs."

"You're taking JD with you?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to. Or I'll end up shooting him accidentally when he tries to follow us secretly." A ghost of smile appeared on Chris's lips; only a ghost, but it was there, and Robert was happy to see it.

Robert Turner hadn't carried out his self-promised resolution when the time came; at the age of 25, Chris Larabee was still unaware of his origins. And Robert wished to God the reasons for that weren't the ones they had been.

Shortly before he'd turned 21, Chris had met Sarah Connelly, a daughter of one of the small ranchers in the area, and had fallen head over heels in love with her. Several months of devoted courtship, and the girl had said 'yes'; and they had thrown themselves into a cheerful planning of their wedding, honeymoon, and future life on the ranch. They'd been young, very much in love and full of hopes; it had seemed so cruel to ruin those hopes, to burden Chris with the duty of revenge and reclaiming Four Corners. And Robert had to admit, the idea of passing the business on to Chris and Buck and spending the rest of his life spoiling grandkids had seemed quite appealing. So he'd decided to let sleeping dogs lie and let Chris and Sarah enjoy their happiness. But the fates had had other plans.

A visit to Sarah's hometown just before the wedding; a bunch of drunken cowboys starting a shootout; a stray bullet… And Sarah had bled to death in Chris's arms.

Five men had been involved in that shootout, at least one of them a known gunfighter; in the month after the funeral, Chris had found, called out, and killed, all five. But it couldn't bring Sarah back; and it hadn't given Chris any solace. It had marked the beginning of his spiral down a dark, self-destructive path. One marked with whiskey bottles and gunfights.

The worst was over now, but Robert still shuddered every time he remembered those first months. Shuddered, and blessed Joanne Larabee and her boys. If it wasn't for them…

Robert had once been able to pull Chris from the darkness, but that time he'd been helpless. Tied to the ranch by his injury, he could do nothing to save his son from himself, but Buck could. It had been Buck who'd planted himself firmly at Chris's back and refused to be removed. Countless nights he'd hauled a blindly drunk Chris back home or to the nearest hotel; watched his back in gunfights, bailed him out of jail if needed, never let him cross the line, and had taken all the shit Chris had doled out. For two and a half years Buck had been there – and he had managed to drag Chris through that dark abyss in one piece. Joanne had been right about 'following Chris to hell and back'…

It had been JD who'd kept Robert himself from losing his mind to worry, guilt, and despair. JD, with his big heart, his inexhaustible interest in everything, his devotion to horses… the kid, too, had been mighty scared of what had been going on, scared he might lose his cousin and brother, but he had never lost his faith in them both – and he had shared it with Robert. God bless Joanne and the gift she'd sent him!

Things were much better now; Chris had stopped his heavy drinking several months ago, and Buck now risked leaving him on his own every once in a while, returning to his duties at the ranch and chasing skirts. Chris still got involved in every second bit of trouble, but at least now when he did he had a good reason – like some innocents needing protecting or some justice needing to be served. It was obvious that Chris had completely lost interest in the ranch and was struggling to find a new purpose in life; Robert knew what that purpose should be. Four Corners Valley.

At least lately, Robert had started to believe that Chris would indeed see freeing the Valley as a purpose for living and not as a perfect opportunity to get himself killed. But Anderson's gang came first; Chris was already determined to go after them, so it wasn't a good idea to shatter his world right before the battle. Let him take care of Anderson, let JD see his first real action – and then the time would come for vengeance, finally.

Coming back to the present, Robert read the wire Chris had brought. Damn.

"I hope you are not going to take on Anderson by yourselves, just the three of you?"

Another ghost of smile. "Nah, Dad, I'm not that reckless. We need at least two more guns. Maybe I'll find them while waiting for the guys."

"Where?"

Chris shrugged. "There's a big shooting contest in Barton's Creek in a couple of days. Some old acquaintances might show up, or maybe I'll pick up someone new."

Robert nodded. "Are you aiming to take part?"

"Nah, no point in that. I have nothing to prove to anyone, besides, it's better to watch contestants from the crowd."

"I see. When are you leaving?"

Chris studied the sun for a while, then answered: "In an hour or so. I'll spend the night in a camp at the Falls and be at the town tomorrow by midday."

"Watch your back, Chris."

"I will," the blond said seriously, and got up. Robert touched his forearm briefly, and Chris half-turned to shake his father's hand. "Don't worry, Dad. I have a date in the Seminole Village I don't intend to miss."

Robert smiled, and Chris went to the house to pack. Turner followed him with his eyes and thought that he almost felt bad for Anderson. Almost.

___

Exactly as he had planned, Chris arrived at Barton's Creek an hour past noon the day before the contest; he even managed to get himself a room in one of the hotels. Chris was well aware of the reputation he'd built for himself over the last three years, but, contrary to popular belief, he knew how to stay invisible when he wanted to. Something less noticeable instead of his black duster, a wide-brimmed light-colored hat – and nobody paid him a second glance, until it was too late.

The next day, Chris was easily passing through the crowd of participants and spectators without drawing any extra attention. Much to his disappointment, none of the gunslingers he knew and wanted to recruit had come; other adventures must have kept them elsewhere. As for picking up someone new…well, there were some good shooters among the contest participants, but they were mostly the kind of people Chris would never ride with. Except for, maybe, one guy; Tanner, he had heard him called.

The guy, who looked more like an Indian than a white man, was hitting dead center in every round; Chris was sure impressed. It seems his confidence that he would have won had he entered the contest was a bit premature…

'_Oh, hell!_' Chris whistled, admitting that he would have lost to the long-haired kid. Man was surely a sharpshooter if he could hit dead center in the last round even with his rifle, which had definitely seen better days. Chris found himself really curious about what Tanner could do with the new rifle he'd just won. The blond began making his way to the center of the square, to have a couple of words with Tanner, but the young man seemed to prove to be the part-Indian Chris had suspected him to be – he disappeared right after he'd received his prize. Damn.

But Chris knew he still had a couple of days to spare, so he decided to stay in Barton's Creek. The town wasn't that big, maybe he would run across that Tanner fellow. Besides, it wouldn't do any harm to keep an eye on things for a little while; such a large amount of scum in one place was bound to stir some trouble.

___

Late morning of the next day, Chris, dressed once again in his usual black, was walking through the eastern outskirts of town when he heard shouts and gunfire. Deciding to take a quick look, he saw a bunch of drunken trail hands dragging a tall black man from the second story of one of the buildings. 'Honest townsfolk' were quickly deserting the streets. Damn, and here he thought the town had gotten better.

Chris surmised from the shouts that the bastards were accusing the man, some sort of a doctor or healer, of killing their boss; the healer maintained that the killer had been gangrene. Chris found the second option more believable; either way, a lynching was the kind of things that just didn't happen in his presence. Besides, Chris Turner had very little patience for drunken cowboys shooting wildly in the streets; the fact that it would be ten against one didn't phase him a bit.

He glanced around, making sure there weren't any girls nearby waiting for a stray bullet – and suddenly met the intense blue-eyed stare of that sharpshooter. The young man, who had his new prize rifle leaning on his shoulder, nodded slightly, and Chris realized the odds of the upcoming fight had just improved greatly in his favor. Without exchanging any words or gestures, the two men fell into step together and followed the lynching party out of town.

Twenty minutes later everything was over. Half of the gang lay dead on the ground and the other half was running away in different directions; the black man was okay, though Tanner had had to shoot the rope.

"Name's Chris," the blond said quietly.

"Vin Tanner. New in town?"

"Just passing through. You?"

Vin shrugged, but before either man could continue the conversation the black healer called: "One of y'all want to pull the knife out of that fella cut me loose here?"

Chris laughed briefly and went to the mentioned fellow to pull out the knife. Sure had been a throw, especially considering the man had done it with his hands bound. Meanwhile, Vin cut the healer's bindings with a knife of his own and helped the man up.

"You ain't Nathan Jackson by any chance?" Tanner asked.

"I am," the man answered, shaking the dirt from his pants. "And you are?"

"Vin Tanner. Remember me?"

"Jesus, Vin?" Jackson exclaimed, looking Tanner over from head to toes. "Damn, boy, but you've grown up a little since the last time I saw ya!"

"No offence, Nate, but you too!" Laughing together, the two men hugged, slapping each other on the back.

"Josiah mentioned you might be coming, guess it was you who won the contest yesterday?"

"Reckon so. Needed a new rifle."

"And I'm mighty grateful for your using of it!" Jackson turned to Chris, who handed him a cleaned knife, hilt first.

"Thank you for your interference, sir," Nathan took the knife, put it in the sheath on his back and stretched out his hand. "Nathan Jackson."

"The pleasure was mine," Chris shook the hand. "Chris Turner."

Jackson obviously recognized his name, but didn't lose his smile; Tanner's expression didn't change at all.

"Well, Nate," Tanner asked, grinning, "you know any good saloons in this town where we can catch up?"

"A couple. Will you come with us, Mr. Turner?"

"Of course. And it's Chris."

Nathan nodded, and the three men left the scene of the failed lynching together.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

_Follows directly after events in chapter 3 _

"This one's on the house, boys," the aged barkeep said while bringing another round of beers to their table. "Just heard what happened," he added as explanation.

"Thanks, Bart," Nathan nodded to him. The three men accepted new mugs, then resumed their conversation once the barkeep had walked away.

They'd been sitting in Bart's tavern for over an hour now; despite the fact that Vin and Nathan hadn't seen each other since their childhood, and Chris was actually a stranger to them both, the men were completely at ease with each other. Over the course of their chat, Chris had learned (mostly from Nathan, Tanner wasn't much of a talker) that their families had lived next to each other farther north from here when they were little boys, but after some sad events had went their separate ways. The men hadn't gone into detail on the events, and Chris knew better than to ask.

Jackson, it seemed, had settled in Barton's Creek about a year ago, and Vin's uncle, a fellow named Josiah, lived nearby, restoring some chapel outside of town. Right now, Nathan was telling Vin about the man's progress on that chapel, while Chris was thinking that he just may have found what he'd come to the town for. And not just because he'd seen what Tanner could do with a rifle or Jackson with a knife; it was more like a gut feeling. And Chris's gut was usually worthy of his trust; his still being alive was the strongest proof of that. Deciding that there was no point in stalling the matter, he waited for the next pause in the chatter and asked:

"Guys, you ever heard of Anderson's gang?"

Nathan nodded; Vin's expression became wary. "Yeah, why you askin'?"

"I know where they're going to strike next time, and I plan to be there to greet them. Trouble is, I could use a few more men. Interested?"

"Knew some folks who met him," Vin said with a note of steel in his voice. "I'm in."

Chris nodded, noticing the past tense; Nathan looked pensive.

"Where and when?" he asked.

"At the Seminole Village that's about five days ride south from here, near Round Lake. We have enough time to make a stop at the Turner Ranch, to meet up with my cousins and gather supplies an' ammo, and then make it to the Village in plenty of time for a good preparation."

Nathan pondered things for a while. A trip like that could take a month or more, providing the good guys managed to stay alive past the confrontation. Would there be any point in returning here afterwards? Well, he'd never much liked Barton's Creek, and today's events certainly hadn't added any charm to the town. Maybe it was time to move on. Besides, what Chris was offering sure sounded like an adventure, and Nathan could use one of those that didn't involve a noose, even if it did involve a shower of bullets.

"Think I'm in, too. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn." That would put them at the ranch by tomorrow evening, about the time Buck and JD would be back.

"Then I should go now, to pack some things and tie up some loose ends." Nathan stood up, fished a couple of coins from his pockets and laid them on the table. "What's our meeting point?"

"See you at dawn at the livery," Chris answered.

Nathan nodded, and left the saloon.

For a while, the two remaining men just sat in a comfortable silence, sipping their beer. Then Vin drawled:

"You reckon Anderson's got himself enough guns this year?"

"What are you trying to say, Tanner?"

Vin finished his beer, put the mug down and answered: "Haven't been to my uncle's yet. He's real good in a fight… if we can talk him into it."

Chris grinned. "Does this mean you don't mind my company on your family visit?"

"Sort of."

Chris finished his beer, after which the men paid off their tab, and left the saloon, heading for the livery.

____

The ride to Josiah's place didn't take long, and, well, Chris would never have guessed that that pile of rocks had been a chapel once. The man who was moving them didn't look much like a relative of Vin's either. While Vin was lean, close to scrawny even, this fellow was built like a mountain. His hair and beard were already grey, but Chris didn't think he was all that old, maybe even younger than his own father.

"Hey, Uncle Joe!" Vin called and dismounted; Chris followed him.

"Vin!" the man bellowed, put down the rock he'd been lifting and caught his nephew in a bear hug.

Chris held back, not wanting to intrude on the family reunion, but came closer when he heard Vin saying:

"Nah, I ain't staying here. We're planning to go after Anderson and his guns, care to join us?"

"No. Vin, you know I'm done with that sorta thing."

"We sure can promise you a good fight," Chris stated calmly. Josiah began answering as he turned to face the newcomer but came to a stop as he saw Chris fully.

Sensing a change in the atmosphere, Vin decided it was time for some introductions.

"Unc, this is Chris Turner. Chris, my uncle, Josiah Sanchez." But both men ignored him, staring at each other. Something about Josiah's stare was slightly familiar to Chris, and for some reason made him think about Eagle Bend and 'The Brocade Delights'. Before he could question that feeling further, Sanchez asked:

"Chris Turner. So, you're organizing this party?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm in."

____

"Mr. Turner, Mr. Turner!" a boy shouted under the opened window.

"Yes?" Robert answered, raising his voice to be heard outside.

"Riders comin' in! Master Chris and three other men with him!"

"Thanks, Sam." It seemed his son had found himself the guns he'd been looking for; Robert stood carefully and slowly made his way outside, to greet the guests.

Chris had recruited quite a company – a tall black man, a grey-haired giant, and a long-haired, slim youth in buckskins. The blond dismounted first, and came close. Maybe Robert was imaging things, but it looked like some lightness, which had long been absent, had appeared back in Chris's step and expression.

"Hey, Dad. Buck and JD home?"

"Yeah, beat you by two hours, they're inside."

"Good." Chris half-turned to introduce his men. "Dad, this is Nathan Jackson, Josiah Sanchez and Vin Tanner. Guys, my father, Robert Turner."

Robert found himself staring at the one in buckskins. Tanner was the maiden name of Cherry's mother, the name Cherry had worn when he'd walked her down the aisle. Of course, it was a common name, but just how common could a Vin Tanner, looking at him with Cherry's eyes, truly be? A Vin Tanner in the company of a black fellow named Jackson and someone called Josiah? And standing behind Chris's left shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world? All a little too much for a simple coincidence.

Robert shifted his gaze and locked eyes with Josiah; the man nodded slightly, and Robert knew that there were no coincidences; just destiny. The wolf had gathered his pack.

___

Later that night, Robert left the boys sitting and bantering in the main room of the house, and quietly went outside, snagging a bottle of good whiskey to take with him. Glasses, fortunately, were always on duty at the small table on the front deck.

Robert settled into his chair and was filling a pair of them, when, as he'd expected, Josiah Sanchez (or should he call him Larabee?) emerged from the house. Following Robert's gesture, the big man sat at the table and took one of the glasses. They sipped in silence for a while, listening to the laughter coming through the open windows, then Robert asked:

"Is Vin…?" Not that he had any doubts, not really, just to start a conversation.

"Yes."

Robert finished his drink a bit fast, and gathered his strength for the next question. "Cherry?" Good, he'd managed to keep his voice from quavering, much.

"Died when Vin was five," Josiah said in a flat tone, staring out into the darkness. "An outbreak of a bad fever, it killed half of the town…including Cherry and Mrs. Jackson, Nate was seven then."

"Where?"

"Dry River, a small town next to Silverton."

Robert nodded, calculating. Vin being five meant that Chris would have been about ten, and that meant that the ranch had been just getting on its feet; and Silverton was miles away. No way Cherry would have heard he'd settled here. It was a relief in a way, to know that Cherry hadn't chosen not to contact him, like Joanne had, but it didn't change the fact that he'd let her down. But he couldn't change anything about that now.

Josiah was still speaking, so Robert turned his attention back to listening.

"We left town after that, the four of us – Obediah Jackson, me and the boys. Traveled together for a bit, then parted our ways…"

"He alive?" Robert asked, meaning Nathan's father. The Jacksons had obviously saved Cherry and Vin back in Four Corners, so if he had a chance to say thanks…

Josiah shook his head. "No. Nathan's followed in their footsteps, though; he's a damn fine healer."

Robert nodded and filled the glasses anew. Again they drank in silence, until it was Josiah's turn to ask: "Buck and JD?"

"Joanne's boys. They were living in Eagle Bend, Chris and Buck just met on the trail one day, and became friends instantly. Joanne knew because she recognized Chris, but I didn't. I only found out after I received a letter from her at her death, she sent the boys here."

"When?"

"Seven years ago. They think Joanne was a sister of Chris's mother."

Josiah chuckled. "Well, Adam sure thought that was the more believable truth sometimes too." He grew solemn again, and added: "Vin believes I'm Cherry's brother. She thought it would be safer that way."

"So, he doesn't know either."

"Neither he nor Nathan. They know the story itself, though, just not that it concerns them so directly."

Robert smiled sadly. It seemed that all of the adults who'd survived Four Corners had made the same choice.

"Why didn't you tell Vin?"

Josiah shrugged. "I don't know. Tried to a couple of times, but…it never seemed to be the right time or place."

Robert felt that there were probably a lot of things hidden behind that simple phrase. He'd already noticed, by Vin's appearance and attitude, that the boy had surely seen a lot more of this world than he should have at the age of twenty. And it also seemed obvious that Josiah's hell didn't amount only to the massacre in Four Corners Valley.

"You think it's time now?"

"If what happened in Barton's Creek wasn't a sign from God, then I don't know what is."

"After Anderson?" Robert half-suggested, half-stated.

"After Anderson," Josiah agreed, and Robert poured them a third glass that they toasted and drank silently, honoring the dead.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 5

_A/N Part of the dialogue in the following chapter is from 'Ghosts of Confederacy'._

**Chapter 5 **

_Takes place following the events in chapter __4 _

Blue Springs was the last town the six men stopped in before continuing on to stop Anderson's gang at the Seminole Village. Not wishing to draw unnecessary attention, they decided to enter the town separately; Buck and JD were heading to one saloon, Vin and Nathan to another (both pairs were tasked with the job of keeping their eyes and ears open), Josiah was going to pay a visit to the local preacher, and Chris intended to check out the latest news at the telegraph office and then chat with the local law.

Chris didn't exactly like what he learned; it seemed Anderson had gotten himself more guns then they were expecting. Not that he doubted their eventual success, but a little more care in the planning would be needed. Nodding his farewell to the sheriff, who most likely believed him to be absolutely crazy, Chris headed for the saloon closest to the jail.

Stepping to one side as he entered, Chris paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the lower light, then he spotted Vin and Nathan at the bar and joined them; seeing their eyes were glued to some activity in one corner of the room, he, too, turned his attention there, suspending his need for a beer.

"Stand aside, sir," a fancy dressed, and obviously drunk, fellow drawled in a thick Southern accent. "You are... obstructing my view. This should be... a piece of cake."

It seemed that there was a bet going on, about whether or not the popinjay fellow could shoot the ace of spades nailed to the wall. The gambler aimed, but slipped on an empty bottle lying on the floor; the shot went wild, hitting a stuffed bird above the bartender and causing the crowd to laugh.

"Pay up," a dusty cowboy, the other participant of the bet, demanded.

"Nonsense," the gambler snorted. "I was encumbered by the debris on the floor."

"Well, let's just try it again."

"With pleasure," the fellow put the gun he'd been using back in a holster on his hip and pulled a new one from his shoulder holster. "Double or nothing."

"It's your money" the cowboy added some bucks to those already lying on the bar. "Get ready to duck, boys." The other men in the bar laughed, but Chris began to think the gambler's drunkenness was a little bit too obvious.

The man aimed, his expression smoothed out, all traces of drunkenness disappearing, and six bangs later there was a hole in the centre of the card and a big smile on the gambler's face.

"He put all six in the same hole," the bartender whispered in awe.

"My, my... how astonishing," the man drawled and went to the bar to gather his winnings; Chris finally noticed he was rather young, maybe around Vin's age. "I've never done that before."

A knife nailed the dollars to the bar. "You sure sobered up quickly, Mister," the cowboy hissed.

"Must be the desert air."

"We don't take kindly to being hustled," the knife was yanked out of the money and used to threaten the gambler's face while the disgruntled cowboy bent him back over the bar. "Let's see how good you can shoot with one eye."

Vin and Chris went for their weapons, ready to interfere, but the gambler handled himself just fine, sending the outraged man to the floor and spinning himself away. As he moved out of range, he used the liberated knife to cut a rope that was holding up a ceiling beam, as the large piece of wood came crashing down, it caused the men surrounding him to duck and scattered the furniture.

"Sorry for the mess," he told the bartender, reaching for the money. In the next second, the hustled cowboy drew his pistol, the bartender ducked, the gambler popped out a hidden derringer from his sleeve, fired it behind him, without turning, and shot the pistol out of the cowboy's hand, using the bar's mirror to aim. He turned to face the crowd, and, watching them, gathered the money with his free hand, and began cautiously retreating towards the door, past Chris and his friends.

"You only got one shot left in that popgun," the cowboy growled.

"Well, then... ," the gambler said, his breathing still heavy from the ruckus, "you best discuss amongst yourselves which one of you is going to die."

"Nice shot, pard," Vin commented as the brave, or perhaps foolhardy, man neared him.

"Dreadful," he answered instantly, and then paused for a moment, looking for an explanation "I was aiming to kill him but the... mirror was cracked."

"First shot was louder than the other five," Chris stated calmly when the gambler passed him.

"What are you attempting to suggest?"

"First bullet was real. The rest were blanks."

"Well, sir..." he drawled without a hint of a shame. "I abhor gambling and as such, leave nothing to chance."

Chris grinned inwardly, he definitely liked the brat. "We're looking for guns to protect an Indian village from Anderson and his gang. You interested?" Nathan's eyes widened at that, but Vin smiled.

"Who's financing?"

"Me."

"And you are?"

"Chris Turner." Chris was used to people reacting to his name, either because of his father's money or his own less-than-stellar reputation, but the reaction he saw on Ezra's face was something unfamiliar.

"I'll sleep on it," the young man offered absently, not even asking 'how much', and that was really strange for a man of his kind, but Chris decided to think on that oddness later.

"Meet us at the livery at dawn, if you live that long."

The gambler nodded, and, with his derringer still drawn, carefully left the saloon.

"Why would we want to use a cheater?" Nathan asked, without contempt, but genially baffled.

Chris shrugged. "Might need one."

___

Ezra P. Standish, a 19-year-old gambler and conman, left the saloon, and, making sure he wasn't followed, hurried to the hotel he was staying in and went up to his room. (A pathetically small closet really, but at least it was clean.)

When he had ridden into town yesterday, he had planned to sit for a few games, maybe run a couple of harmless cons, like the drunken shooter one, and then move on with a few more dollars in his wallet. What he hadn't expected, was to be invited to join a crusade, and by Chris Turner of all people! Chris Turner, his half-brother; though the man, of course, didn't know it.

Ezra entered his room and closed the door behind him; he paused a moment to lock it and wedge a chair under the handle. Feeling secure, or as close as he could get while in this room, he moved to lay on the bed without even taking his boots off. As he got comfortable, he extracted a small pendant on a thin chain from a hidden pocket his vest and looked at it. Thoughts on the vagaries of life drifted through his mind before being replaced by remembrances of stories from the past.

…For Maude Standish, an amazing woman, outstanding poker player and talented con artist, every man she looked at was either a mark or a partner-in-crime; sometimes both. That included her three husbands and all her lovers. All except one. Robert Turner.

They had met in a large city in the East. Maude hadn't been sure about Robert's wealth, but he'd been handsome, charming and smart; back then she had sometimes allowed herself to just have fun, without constantly thinking about making a profit. And Robert had known how to have fun. Their light affair had quickly grown serious, and Maude had started anticipating a proposal; a proposal she might have accepted without even checking Robert's sources of income. After all, in the worst case scenario they could always have made an unbeatable poker team. But then he had received some wires, had said that there was some emergency at home, back in the West, and that he had to go. He'd promised to return soon, or at least write, if he got delayed. Two weeks after Robert had left, Maude had realized she'd been expecting. She had waited for two months, 'as a common naïve fool', and then she had had to move, before her 'delicate condition' became noticeable.

Four years later, Maude had decided to try her luck in the western territories; she had then heard the name Robert Turner again. She'd come to Eagle Bend, with toddler Ezra in tow, and made some inquires about the man before just showing up at the Turner's ranch. What she'd learned was the bitterest truth she'd ever encountered. During their affair, Robert Turner had been a married man, and his 'family emergency', most likely, had been just a letter from his wife, demanding his return home, or something like that. And though he was a widower at the current time, it hadn't changed the fact that he'd lied to her when they were together.

And then Maude Standish had done the most un-Maude-like thing ever; she had walked away from easy money. She could have gone to the ranch and, at the very least, demanded a significant amount for keeping her mouth shut – Robert was a widower, right, but he had a good reputation and a son old enough to understand the meaning of the words 'cheat' and 'bastard' – but she hadn't. Instead, she and Ezra had boarded the next stage out of Eagle Bend, and for years to come Maude had never even mentioned the name Robert Turner.

Shortly after Ezra had turned seventeen, he and Maude had decided to part their ways for some time. Maude had wanted to go back to the 'civilized' cities of the East; Ezra had preferred the open areas, small towns and adventurous spirit of the West. The day before their parting, Maude had told her son the whole story behind his true conception, and Ezra, knowing his mother real well, was astonished enough to ask questions. To ask why she had never demanded money from Robert Turner, or why, when she used to dump him on every uncle and aunt she could find, she'd never tried to dump him on his father.

"_Remember my lessons, boy_," she'd answered to him then. "_Never take on an adversary you can't best. I admit, there were some – very few – people who occasionally saw through my cons, but Robert Turner was the only man who ever managed to con _me_. Challenging him anew wouldn't have been prudent."_

Ezra had pretended he'd bought that excuse, as Maude Standish would never openly admit that such things as 'hurt pride' or 'betrayed love' existed in her vocabulary.

"_But you are old enough now to make your own choices on the matter, my darling boy, and since you are staying in the area…"_ With that, she had given him the pendant, a present from Robert, and a couple of his love notes, which could serve as proof should Ezra ever decide to confront his father.

Almost two years had passed since the day Ezra had learned the truth; twice in that time he had found himself at the borders of the Turner ranch – and twice he had ridden away.

'The bastard of a wealthy gentleman' was a good con, and Ezra knew how to work it to his advantage; the only problem was, that it wouldn't have been a con. Robert Turner was his father. And swindling money from greedy fools or pompous peacocks was one thing, but begging for alms was completely different. And charity or sop were the only things he could expect from the Turner household. Robert Turner had himself a legitimate son, and though that son was far from ideal, a gunslinger with the reputation of Sir Lancelot was far more respected in these parts than a gambler and conman. And Ezra refused to be ashamed of what he was, especially for a man who'd been a cheater himself – at least once.

The Southern gentleman jumped up and began pacing in the small space of the hotel room, thinking about the short conversation from the saloon. One part of him (the smart one) was screaming that he should run from town as fast and as far as he could; the other part… well, the tales he'd heard about Chris Turner had always made him curious; and here was a chance to ride with him and see with his own eyes the son who'd had everything Ezra hadn't. Besides, it sounded like an adventure - a real adventure, not just hustling a bunch of imbeciles and making a run for it after – and adventures were one of the reasons he'd stayed in the West and hadn't followed Maude.

Damn, he'd been too overwhelmed to ask 'how much'; an unforgivable slip for a Standish, though he didn't want a single nickel of Turner money. But, if he remembered correctly, the bounty on Anderson was a four-digit sum…and it would be good to be a part of something noble for a change; taking down a mad dog like Anderson definitely counted as noble, regardless of the company.

Ezra made his decision, but to implement it he had to, as Mr. Turner had so wisely noticed, survive till dawn; so, as he sat down on the edge of the bed, he began reloading his guns.

___

"I see you made it," Chris commented, seeing the gambler from yesterday leading a chestnut gelding out of the livery and mounting it.

"Well, I couldn't refuse a chance to ride with a genuine celebrity," the man drawled with a cocky smile.

Chris scowled, but Buck laughed out loud.

"Hell, stud, I like ya!" Buck exclaimed and leaned forward to slap the shorter man on his shoulder, ignoring the grimace of disgust that caused. "We need someone to keep ol' Chris on his toes."

Chris glared at his cousin, but Buck had always been immune to the glare (Buck still thought, secretly, that his mom's look, when she'd been in the mood, had been scarier); at the same time, Vin leaned close to Chris and whispered, loud enough for all of them to hear:

"Don't worry, Cowboy, I'll watch your back." Which caused everyone to chuckle.

"Well, kids," Chris growled with an intonation that send Josiah miles north-west and years back, making him feel like he was ten and the youngest in the group. "If you're done, let's ride."

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

_Follows after events in Chapter five _

Chris's talent in strategy, Vin's knowledge of Anderson's tactics and Ezra's devious mind had united and resulted in a plan, which, with a little help from village citizens, had worked perfectly. Anderson had indeed gathered himself more guns then they had expected, but it didn't help him any; a part of the gang had run away as soon as they had met a noticeable resistance, the rest were either killed or captured in the end. Anderson himself was dead, too, though it had taken five bullets to take him down; Chris fired the last one, facing the outlaw from three paces.

On the morning of the third day after the battle, Chris started on his usual rounds, checking on his men. They were all a little worse for the wear, but Josiah was the only one seriously injured; he'd caught a bullet to his shoulder. But today the man claimed he was fit to travel; Nathan wasn't all that keen on the idea, but, after a couple of arguments, agreed that, as long as they took it slow, Josiah would be okay. So it was decided that they could leave today, and Chris went to look for the others to inform them.

He found JD sitting alone on the outskirts of the village; the kid looked a little lost, and Chris cursed himself inwardly. After all, JD had killed his first man here; Buck said he'd handled it well, but Chris hadn't yet had time to talk with the boy himself, and that wasn't right.

He sat close to his younger cousin and asked softly: "You okay, JD?"

The boy shrugged. "Yeah… I think. It's just… It wasn't like I thought it would be…"

"It seldom is."

"I just didn't count on… It's not that easy."

"And it shouldn't be, JD," Chris said earnestly, squeezing his shoulder. "When it becomes easy, then I'll start to worry about my little cousin." Of course, JD should know how to handle himself in a fight, the western territories were a dangerous place, after all, but neither Chris nor Buck wanted the boy to become a hardened gunslinger, especially so soon.

"You did good out there, cuz," Chris stated and then added in a lighter tone: "But now you might want to gather your stuff, we're leaving soon."

"Are we going home?" The boy lit up, from both Chris's praise and the idea of a new trip.

"Yeah, soon as I can manage to unstick Buck from the local ladies and the local children from Ezra."

Laughing, the cousins stood up and went back to the village together, splitting up once inside to attend to their separate chores.

___

The Seven delivered their prisoners, and Anderson's body, into the custody of Blue Springs law without any trouble – if one didn't consider the sheriff almost losing his bottom jaw trouble. The sheriff didn't have enough money at his disposal to pay off the bounty on Anderson and offered instead to send some wires to Eagle Bend, so the men would receive their money there; they agreed. For Chris, Buck and JD it was only natural, Eagle Bend was just a little ways from home; Josiah knew they all had to return to the Turner Ranch anyway, for long overdue disclosures, and the ranch was close to the town. Vin didn't have any other obligations and was content to ride with Chris for the time being; Nathan hadn't decided yet what he would be doing with his life in the near future, and the idea of staying in the company of the other six men appealed to him, besides, he was sure that if he stuck with them, he'd never lack for medical practice. And Ezra convinced himself that Eagle Bend was far enough away from the Turner Ranch, thus safe from unintended exposure, and a good enough place as any to start augmenting his share of the bounty. So the Seven took some official, signed vouch warrants from the sheriff and headed back north

The men followed back pretty much the same route they had used while traveling to the village; that meant their second night was spent on the trail, at a cozy clearing. While the rest of the men were setting the camp, Chris noticed Vin surveying the vicinity with a somewhat worried look.

He approached the tracker and asked "Noticed something?"

"Nah, just a feeling."

"You think someone is following us?"

"Maybe." Vin shrugged. "Or maybe we're following someone. Or maybe I'm just jumping at shadows."

As far as Chris knew, Vin wasn't prone to 'jumping at shadows', so he made a point of reminding every one to actually watch while on watch.

____

Josiah woke with a start, eyes snapping open and body freezing as he fought his way up from the familiar nightmare and habitually beat back the scream. The nightmare always began differently; after all, the first fifteen years of his life had enough happy moments to choose from, but the end was always the same – James and Eric falling beside him, Adam, vainly struggling with Davidson's goons, bullets entering his own body… Though Josiah had seen some really nasty things in the last twenty years, not one of them had been able to supplant the Four Corners battle as his customary nightmare.

Josiah took a deep breath and focused his eyes; the sky above was turning from black to grey, the dawn must not be far away. He raised himself on his elbows, being careful of his wound, to survey the quiet camp, and saw that his assumption of time was correct as Standish was sitting on a stump slightly above the clearing, and the gambler had the last watch tonight. Josiah himself was excluded from the watch schedule due to his still healing wound; he'd objected, of course, but on that account Chris had listened more to Nathan than to him. The rest of the men were still sleeping peacefully around him; his friends, his family.

They didn't know everything yet, but the bond uniting the men was obvious. All seven of them, even if Nathan wasn't related by blood and Ezra didn't seem to have any legacy that might connect him with the Larabees. He wouldn't be surprised if it turned out the Southerner had some kinship, though, the way things had been happening, who knows, The Lord worked in mysterious ways…

Josiah laid back and stared into the fading stars, thinking about his nephews - the one whom he'd practically raised, the older ones, whom he hadn't seen for twenty years and the youngest, whom he'd only met a couple of weeks ago.

After they left the village, Josiah had tried to turn the conversation between the men to their childhood and adolescent years, trying to catch up on the time lost. Chris, like Vin, wasn't much of a talker, but Buck and JD had been eager to tell lots of stories, and Chris couldn't help commenting, or rather, correcting; Josiah recognized Joanne in these stories, and began to really comprehend the significance of what Robert Turner had done for Chris, and for the other two as well, gifting them with loving family experiences, even if they weren't privy to the true nature of them.

"You'd be proud of them," he mouthed to the sky, picturing the faces of his nephews together with their parents and looking for resemblances.

With Chris it was obvious; he not only looked like Adam and had his voice, he somehow managed to copy his manners, too. It was real scary sometimes, and Josiah constantly had to watch himself, to ensure he was using the correct name to address his oldest nephew. Buck, apparently, had inherited his appearance from his father, who ever the man was; but his heart, as big as the moon, was all Joanne. And his temper, too. He was jovial, fun-loving, amorous and caring, but deadly in protecting his own. Vin was a mixture of his parents; Cherry had given him his sky-blue eyes and gentle, poetic soul, but his unbreakable inner pivot was from James. And the steadfast loyalty was James's, too, the loyalty Vin had already offered to Chris, unspoken as it was. The youngest one also made Josiah check to see if he was using the correct name, because JD, for whatever reason, had decided to take after one of his uncles, Eric. Eric, the only dark-haired one among them back then, always full of life and enthusiasm, always curious… He'd been seventeen when he'd been ruthlessly killed, only a year older than JD was now...

Josiah squeezed his eyes shut for a breath before opening them, chasing away the terrible visions of the past. They had a future now; they'd found each other and were together, and they would be going home soon.

___

Ezra shuffled his cards absent-mindedly, casting quick looks around every other moment and thinking about the last couple of weeks. He didn't regret his decision to join Chris, in fact, he had rather enjoyed the battle at the Village. It had been exciting, creating a plan together with clever people, who'd listened to his suggestions, accepting and improving them; then carrying that plan into motion, working as a united force…

Standish had never relied on anyone but himself before, but this time he somehow knew he could rely on the other six, and not only to do their share for a common cause, but to watch his back in the process, too. And damn it, but it felt good. To Chris's credit, he had gathered some unconventional, yet interesting, men around him; even the kid was fun to talk with. Ezra had been almost ready to admit he enjoyed riding with them… until the last two days.

For whatever reason, childhood experiences had become the main topic of conversations among the men; in the beginning it had been amusing, Ezra had even contributed a couple of stories of his own, with just enough truth in them to make them believable. But now he was completely sick of hearing about what a perfect father, and uncle, Robert Turner had been, and still was. He was mad at himself because he couldn't stop feeling jealous; and it had taken great effort last evening not to shout in Chris's face that his – their – father was a lying bastard.

Worst of all, it'd become obvious that Chris intended for all of them to stop at the Turner Ranch before going to Eagle Bend, and Ezra began to ask himself if his share of the money was worth it. Of course, he'd honestly earned it; his left shoulder still reacting to every sharp movement, was proof of that, but…

Purposeful movement in the camp interrupted his musings; Ezra watched as Josiah decided to finally give up on going back to sleep and, instead, made his way to the watching post, careful not to wake the others.

"Morning, Ez."

"I'm afraid that fine time of the day has yet to grace us with its presence, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra answered, standing up to greet him. "What woke you so early, is your wound bothering you?"

"Nah, I'm fine, just had myself enough sleep, I suppose. You can catch another hour or two, though, if you want, I'll relive you."

Ezra opened his mouth to answer, something humorous along the lines of Mr. Turner not enjoying the change of schedule crossed his mind, but anger, which had been building slowly for days, stopped him mid-word. After all, Chris Turner wasn't his commanding officer; the job the man had recruited him for had been over for a while now, Ezra didn't have to follow his orders any more. In fact, he didn't owe his half-brother anything. On the other hand, Ezra doubted he would be able to sleep right now, but he certainly could use some time alone, to clear his head.

"In that case, Mr. Sanchez, I believe I'll check our fore trail a little, in the light of Mr. Tanner's apprehension. I'll be back before the end of the watch, if I don't encounter anything suspicious."

"And if you do, you'd better come back earlier."

"Of course," Ezra grinned, tipped his head and headed to the horses.

"Watch your back, Standish," the older man said earnestly, taking Ezra's place on the stump.

"I always do, Mr. Sanchez."

____

Ezra had come up with five, more or less, acceptable reasons why he couldn't continue to ride with the other men to the Turner Ranch and would just meet them at Eagle Bend. The three most plausible ones required some time spent alone in the nearest telegraph office, but, if that proved to be impossible, the other two would suffice, too.

Ezra didn't notice that he'd ridden farther and longer than he'd meant to, until he heard the sound of gunfire, coming, apparently, from back at their camp. His first reaction, naturally, coming from all his previous life experience, was to continue forward, away from the noise. But, before he knew what he was doing, the young conman had turned his horse around and was hurrying back to the clearing.

He knew better, though, than to rush in blindly; staying hidden in the trees, he came close quietly and surveyed the picture from height. He didn't like what he saw. A dozen or more bandits occupied the clearing; Ezra recognized some of them as runaways from Anderson's gang. Somehow they had managed to capture four of his compatriots, and Vin and Nathan were nowhere to be seen; Ezra sure hoped they were out there somewhere, waiting for a suitable moment to strike. Well, in that case, he should provide a distraction, shouldn't he? Trying not to think about what could happen if he was wrong, Ezra went to take care of the outlaw that was standing nearest to him.

Taking care of the lookout, Ezra used a handful of powder to organize a small (and mostly harmless) explosion; the distraction that provided gave Chris enough time to free himself and gain a weapon from his unlucky guard. The gunfighter then hurried to free the others while taking care of any bandits in his sights. A couple of outlaws falling suddenly, proved that Vin, at least, had indeed been out there ready for an opportunity to attack.

In a matter of minutes, control of the situation was reversed as half of the bandits lay dead on the ground, the other half was trying to flee, and the Seven were quickly saddling their horses to follow. In the middle of the melee, Ezra found himself next to Chris, who was just raising himself up after retrieving his gun belt from a dead outlaw. Their eyes met, and Ezra braced himself for whatever was coming, from a fiery dress-down to a right cross or even a bullet; but instead, Chris, leaving his gun belt in his left hand, tapped Ezra's chest with his right index finger, and said, without raising his voice but with a great amount of steel in it:

"Don't ever run out on me again."

Ezra gave a small nod and tipped his hat in a silent answer.

It was only later that evening, after they had captured the remnants of the gang and delivered them into the custody of the law in the nearest town and stopped there for the night, when Ezra Standish realized that he had given his half-brother a promise. A promise he had every intention of keeping, even if it meant facing Robert Turner.

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 7

_Sorry for the delay, wasn't my fault, honestly!:)_

**Chapter 7**

_Follows the events of Chapter 6_

The boys were coming home today, and Robert Turner felt very ill at ease. He knew from the wires Chris had dutifully sent that Anderson had been taken care of, and, though the boys had had some extra adventures along the way, they were all okay, and should be there soon. That meant that tonight, or at the latest tomorrow, the truth must be revealed. And Robert Turner was honest enough to admit to himself that he was afraid. Afraid of Chris's and the others's reactions.

Twenty years of silence, half-truths, and lies; for twenty years 'the adults' were choosing for 'the kids', denying them their legacy, even if said legacy consisted only of grief and revenge. Chris was a forthright honest man, and, most likely, so was Vin; would they understand the motives behind the deception? Would they accept them and forgive the con?

Robert sighed, staring at his cane with disgust. Years ago he believed he would follow Chris to Four Corners Valley when the time came; now it was impossible, he would only be a liability. Of course, he could and would offer his money, and his advice after when it comes to restoring the Valley, Chris already knew more than him about battles. That is, if Chris accepted his help at all after everything, and Robert wasn't all that sure about that…

Robert was lost in thought, trying to figure out how to even begin telling the tragic story, when he heard the clatter of hooves. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and made his way down from the porch. To his surprise, he saw seven riders instead of six; the seventh rode to the right, between Buck and JD, and his bright red coat sure singled him out from the others. But nevertheless, he looked like he belonged there anyway, and Robert found himself wondering who he might be if all the Larabees and family friends were accounted for already.

Minutes later, the men arrived at the yard and dismounted; Chris, as usual, came forward and gave his dad a short man-hug.

"Dad."

"Chris," Robert nodded, taking stock of his son; Chris looked fine, and though tired, he did look more alive than he had been for the last three years. Relived, Robert shifted his gaze to the rest, appraising their conditions and waiting for someone to introduce the new man.

It was Buck, who slapped the newcomer on his shoulder and said loudly:

"Well, Ez, let me introduce you to Mr. Robert Turner, the owner and founder of this beauty," Buck gestured with his other hand at the land around. "Sir, this is Ezra Standish, he helped us with Anderson. A good shot and absolutely dangerous at poker."

"It doesn't take much skill to beat you there, Buck," Robert joked automatically, his mind reeling from hearing the words 'Standish' and 'poker' in the same sentence. Could it be? No, it just couldn't, that man was simply someone Chris had recruited for a job and who'd stuck with him after wards, and it doesn't matter that he seems hardly older than Vin…

"Welcome to the Turner Ranch, Mr. Standish," silencing his paranoid thoughts with an effort, Robert outstretched his hand.

"Sir," the young man met his gaze with a polite, but blank expression, then quickly ended the handshake and retreated to take care of his horse, while Robert was shaking hands with the other men. (JD and Buck got hugs, but they didn't complain.)

As the day went by the seven men took care of their horses and themselves, taking turns telling Robert about their adventures, both on the road and in the Village. What Robert realized from everything he heard was, without a doubt, that the seven men became a remarkable force - when working together. That was good to know, considering what waited for them in the near future.

It was already dark outside, and the men were sitting in the main room after dinner, relaxing, smoking and sipping whiskey, or, in JD's case, milk. The group discussion slowly broke up into smaller ones; Ezra extracted a deck of cards from his vest pocket and began shuffling them professionally, though he kept silent and wasn't in a hurry to invite anyone to a game of chance.

Robert, seating nearby, was enchanted by the familiar motion and couldn't ignore his suspicions any longer; before he realized what he was doing he heard himself speaking:

"Ezra, can I ask you a question?" Seeing he had the man's attention, he continued: "How old are you?"

Ezra was startled. He, of course, expected some questions from the head of the house, him being a new man here and his occupation somewhat questionable. But age wasn't a thing people cared about here. There was only one reason for Robert Turner asking him that - the man recognized his last name and was suspecting Ezra for who he was. Actually, before arriving here Ezra had decided to let sleeping dogs lie and not bring up the subject of his parentage while here; after all, he wanted nothing from Robert Turner, but he owed Chris after what had happened at the clearing. Not to mention he actually liked and respected his brother and felt there was a chance for a friendship he didn't want to risk for the sake of, figuratively speaking, spitting in Robert's face. But if the man was asking for that himself….

"I turned 19 in June, Mr. Turner," he drawled, seeing with satisfaction the man pale. "At the end of the month."

Nineteen in June… and Robert had left Maude in October. Oh Lord. Was this young man, seated in the chair next to him, Maude's and his son? And, judging by the way he'd answered the question, he was very well aware of his lineage.

Meanwhile, Ezra put the deck back in one pocket, and extracted something small from the other one. He stretched the object out to Robert and said, in the same nonchalant tone:

"I believe it's yours, sir."

Robert automatically took the thing and recognized the pendant he'd given Maude shortly before his leaving. So… so it was true and Ezra knew. But if he had the pendant, did this mean that Maude was dead?

"Is Maude…" he couldn't bring himself to finish the question, but Ezra understood him anyway.

"No, sir, my Mother is in excellent health, at least as far as I know. She gave me that when she decided to leave this area."

"Why didn't she…"

"You know, sir, the ability to read others is a very important skill for people in our – I mean mine and Mother's – profession. My Mother is too proud – as a professional – to openly admit she had been deceived even once, and contacting you would be doing just that."

Bewildered, Robert stared at the pendant. He might have broken a promise he'd given to Maude, but he'd never lied to her… and then realization dawned, leaving him breathless. Maude had, apparently, found him after wards, and, whenever she'd done that, she'd found his cover story, too. A story about him being a recent widower with a son. She'd had no reasons to doubt it, so she must have believed that he'd been married during their time together, that he'd just used her and dumped her after wards. That's why she hadn't contacted him, that's why the young man sitting here looked at him with such contempt… Good Lord. Robert had always known that the web of lies and half-truths he created to protect Chris could backfire one day, he'd just never suspected it would be this way, never thought it would cost him the woman he almost loved and the son of his blood…

"Dad," he heard Chris's voice, in its quiet, but most dangerous tone. "What's going on?"

Robert lifted his gaze from the pendant and realized that not only Chris, but everyone in the room, was watching and listening to his exchange with Ezra. And, most likely, they had guessed its meaning. Well, at least he didn't have to choose the correct moment for finally telling the truth…

"Chris. It's not what you think."

Ezra snorted, but Chris asked calmly: "Then what is it?"

"It's a much more complicated story." Robert felt his throat go dry, and sipped from his glass, forcing himself to swallow, while surveying the men around him. Josiah looked pensive, he must be preparing himself for telling his part of the story; Buck looked sad and JD stunned, and Vin and Nathan were rising from their chairs.

"I think we should leave," Nathan said for them both.

"Stay," Robert said tonelessly. "It concerns all of you."

"All of us?" Vin asked incredulously. To his further surprise, he was answered by Josiah.

"Yes. All of us."

"You know what this is about?" Vin glared accusingly at his uncle.

"Partially," Josiah looked at Robert, returning the lead to him.

"As I said, boys, it's a long and complicated story. I ask you to hear us out before jumping to conclusions, and then we'll answer all your questions, if we can."

Chris, JD and Buck exchanged glances and nodded; Nathan and Vin sat back down and Ezra shrugged. Taking it as an agreement, Robert said:

"JD, please tell Rachel we are not to be disturbed and close the door and the window." Generally, Robert trusted his servants, but no one besides the Seven should hear what would be told now.

When JD had done what he'd been told and sat back in his chair, Robert took a deep breath and addressed Standish.

"Ezra, you grew up far from here. What do you know about Four Corners Valley?"

Now _that_ was a strange question. What did the Valley, which was a good weeks ride from the ranch, have to do with him being Turner's bastard? Come to think of it, what did the rest of the men, besides Chris, have to do with it… But he'd agreed to listen; maybe it all would make sense in the end. As for the question, Ezra happened to know enough about the area and its history, he'd spent several months there last year, but he would refrain from revealing that particular detail, until he knew for sure what was going on.

"Four Corners Valley," he began with an intonation of a storyteller. "A rich and once thriving area west from here. It had belonged to the Larabee family since its foundation until Benjamin Davidson took it illegally by force twenty years ago or so. The men of the family were killed, the women and children disappeared."

"The folks in Four Corners put a hell of hope in those missing children," Vin added. "They believe the boys will come back any minute now, and kick Davidson out of the Valley."

Seeing inquiring looks, Vin explained: "Was there a couple of times, have some friends in outer ranches. Never been to town, though. They have lots of rumors about what happened to them boys…"

"And what are those rumors?" Robert asked in a carefully neutral tone.

Vin shrugged, but Ezra, anxious to see what all this was getting at, spoke with a trace of irritation in his voice:

"It is believed that the son of the oldest brother, the rightful heir, so to say, was kidnapped by the Indians. The Larabee sister and her son, according to the most popular rumor, were saved by some famous gunslinger, her lover and the boy's father. The widow of a middle brother, and her baby, ran off to some rich relatives of hers. And it is also believed, that the youngest Larabee brother had survived the battle and was saved by some healers or shamans, who later got him out of the Valley."

"Well," again it was Josiah who picked up the conversation. "At least the last one is true. I honestly don't know how, but I made it to the Jacksons after the battle."

Josiah looked pointedly at Nathan and continued: "Obediah had to dig three bullets out of me, guess I got lucky… We were hiding at one of the small ranches for a while, and then they managed to get us all out of the Valley."

Nathan nodded in recognition; he'd seen Josiah's old scars while tending to him, he'd just never thought in was his father who'd worked on them wounds at the time… but some things made more sense now.

"So you are the youngest Larabee brother," Vin stated.

"Yes. Nate's parents were long-time friends and sort of our family doctors."

"Does it mean that me…" Vin began to ask, but Josiah shook his head. "Not exactly."

"What?"

"Vin, you are indeed my nephew, but Cherry wasn't my sister, she was my sister-in-law. Your father was James Larabee, the second of us brothers, and he was killed in the Four Corners battle."

Vin gasped, feeling like the earth was moving out from under his feet. '_Remember, boy, you are a Tanner_' were the last words his mother told him; he'd always thought it had been a way to honor his father. He'd known his father was treacherously killed, but that was all; and now it seemed that Josiah had known all along what had happened, and…

"Then where the hell did the name Tanner came from?" He demanded angrily.

"Tanner was Cherry's maiden name, Vin," Robert answered. It was a little more complicated that that, but the details of Cherry's relationship with her father could wait. "The name she wore walking down the aisle."

"And how do _you_ know that?"

Robert met the blue-eyed glare, and tried to keep his voice steady. "Cherry was my step-sister, Vin. I gave her away at the wedding. I should have been that relative she could run to, but I was traveling at the time and didn't have a permanent home. I hurried to the Valley as soon as I heard about Davidson, but it was too late by then. I couldn't find a single trace of her; I looked for years but to no avail."

For several long moments the two men looked into each other's eyes, then Vin nodded, accepting what had been said.

Wishing to ease the tension a little, Josiah went for what he thought would be a safer revelation and looked at Buck and JD.

"My sister's name was Joanne," he said softly.

Buck smiled sadly at that. "Then I think 'the famous gunslinger' was never in the picture, was he?"

The grey-haired man shrugged. "Not that we knew of." Then a distant look appeared in his face, one that showed he was going to share a happy memory. "When it became obvious that Joanne was expecting," he began, "we confronted her, and Adam, as the head of the family, asked whom we should pay a visit. She laughed in his face and answered, that, if she ever wanted a shotgun wedding, then she knew how to handle the shotgun herself."

Buck chuckled, recognizing his mother in that, and Josiah continued:

"While Adam was thinking of a suitable answer, Teresa stepped in, stating, that, with four of us around, the child would have enough father figures to drive him crazy, and that she, for once, heartily approved Joanne's timing. Adam had never been able to out argue the girls when they teamed up, and, considering that Teresa was due any day herself… "

"Teresa?" Chris whispered, shattering the illusion of the light mood. Josiah looked at Robert guiltily – it was his place to tell Chris his part of the story.

"Yes. Teresa," Robert stated and waited for the man who'd been his son for twenty years to look at him.

"Chris, your real name is Christopher Adam Larabee, you are the only son of Adam and Teresa Larabee, the current head of the Larabee family and the legitimate owner of Four Corners Valley."

Chris's eyes jumped to Josiah for a second as he breathed: "That true?"

"Yes," his new uncle replied. "You're the spitting image of Adam, Chris. Joanne and myself recognized you on sight."

Robert swallowed dry, unable to gage his son's reaction, and continued, ignoring the growing ache in his heart. "You were five during the invasion of Four Corners, and you witnessed the deaths of your parents."

With everyone being focused on Chris and Robert, no one noticed Ezra paling visibly at that. The execution of Adam Larabee was still the subject of horror tales in Four Corners, and Ezra had heard enough of them to wish he had a less vivid imagination. To think that Adam's child had seen it… How the hell had Chris managed to grow up in a sane person? Robert must be a wizard if it was his doing.

Meanwhile, Robert was continuing. "I managed to kidnap you afterwards, and started the rumor about Indians, to direct Davidson's goons elsewhere. It was nearly six months before you started talking again, and by that time you didn't remember much."

A deafening silence fell after that; it looked like everyone forgot to breathe for a while. Then suddenly Chris stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over, and fled from the room. A moment later they heard the slamming of the front door and Robert made a move to stand up, too, when Buck shook his head.

"Leave him be, Robert. He'll come around and you'll sort this out, but for now leave him be."

Robert nodded, finished his drink and turned to face the son of his blood.

"I didn't lie to your mother, Ezra," he said tiredly. "I wasn't married when we were together; in fact I was never married. But I had a sister and I couldn't stay away once I knew she was in danger, though I didn't think back then it was that serious… When we got out of the Valley and were far enough away to be safe, I wrote to Maude, to the city where we'd met, but she'd left already. I didn't look for her afterward, and I should have. I didn't know she was pregnant and never thought about that possibility…and I should have."

For a moment Robert stared into the green eyes, identical to those he saw in the mirror everyday, and then looked elsewhere. Ezra cleared his throat.

"I'm afraid I'm in need of some fresh air," he stood up gracefully and headed for the door. "Gentlemen."

He left the room quietly and slowly, a contrast to Chris's hasty retreat; Robert followed him with his eyes, wondering if there was any chance that he'd acquired the younger son today, and not lost the older one.

"Why?" Vin asked quietly, looking first at his uncle and then at Robert, who, as it seemed now, also was his uncle. "Why so many lies?"

It was obvious that Robert's mind was with his boys outside, and anyway, it was Josiah's task to set thing right with Vin. So he took a deep breath and tried to formulate what had been their reasons for concealing the truth.

"To protect you all. Not only from Davidson, but from hatred and bitterness. To let you grow up without constant grieving, hating and seeking revenge."

Vin looked at his uncle, the man whom he'd always remembered as grey-haired and considered old, and realized suddenly that Josiah must be only in his mid thirties now… and he knew what he was talking about; knew from experience what was it like, to constantly remember that your home had been shattered and the men responsible were still alive, their crimes unpunished, and the deaths of your loved ones unavenged. Vin nodded, silently saying he understood.

"So," JD spoke the first time since the talk had begun. "Does this all mean that we are all a family?"

Trust the kid to focus on the bright spot. But then, he didn't loss anything in today's revelations, only gained… Vin started to feel a little closed in, maybe Ezra's idea about fresh air had some sense in it… But he didn't want to distress the kid.

"Yes, JD, it means exactly that. We're all family, and that's good news," he stood up, came close and ruffled the boy's hair, knowing full well that the gesture irritated him. "Bad news is that you're still the youngest."

JD laughed, shaking Vin's hand away, and asked: "Where are you going?"

"Out. Need myself a little space, too. See y'all tomorrow." He caught Nathan's and then Buck's eyes for a second, and left.

Buck looked at the door, hoping Vin would find Chris out there. If anyone was able to help Chris to come to terms with the shocking truth, it would be Tanner, in all this they had more in common than anyone else. Buck himself was still sorting out his own feelings, trying to decide if he was angry at his mother for hiding the truth from him and Chris, for deciding to play along with Robert's story. Because it had been her decision, Robert couldn't make her do anything… And the oldest son of Joanne Larabee decided that no, he wasn't angry at his mother. Josiah had a point; had Buck known he should have grown up not in a brothel, but in a big family, with a bunch of uncles, aunts and cousins, had he known he shouldn't have been the only one protecting his mother for years, that he should have had 'enough father figures to drive him crazy'… Had he known all that, he might have turned out bitter and full of hatred and self-pity, he might have ended up envying Chris instead of being his friend… He didn't want that.

Now, with things happening the way they had, nothing could sway their friendship. If it had survived the aftermath of Sarah's death, then no amount of family secrets could damage it. As for the rest of the boys… well, the bond uniting them was created in the Seminole Village, and everything else might only strengthen it. At least, Buck was firm set to believe [-] that, and was going to do his best to make the others believe it, too.

Buck looked at his uncles (he'd come to consider Robert as such, in the years he'd been living on the ranch, and now he had Josiah for one, too…that was good); both men wore the same forlorn look. All this truth telling must have been hard on them; Buck wanted to tell them both it'd be okay, but then he came up with a better idea.

"Josiah," he called softly. "Tell us about them."

"Huh?"

"Tell us about them," Buck repeated. "About you, about us."

"What?"

Buck shrugged. "Everything. Did you give much grief to Uncle Adam? Did Nate's parents have as much trouble with you all as Nate with us? Did Mom and Aunt Teresa always have their way with you boys? Who was more trouble as a baby, me or Chris? As I said, everything."

Josiah laughed in spite of himself.

Later that evening, Robert left Buck, JD and Nathan listening to Josiah's tales and went outside. One day, he might want to hear them, too, but not today. Today he had to make sure his sons and nephew were okay. He had an idea where Chris might be; ever since the founding of the ranch, the boy had had a favorite place to hide when hurt or just when he needed to think – a fallen tree behind the barn. The tree had half gone into the ground over the years, but Chris still went to sit there every now and then, and now Robert was carefully making his way there, using moonlight to guide him.

As soon as the tree came into view, Robert noticed three silhouettes sitting on it, in arm's reach of each other; a bottle was passing between them. He stopped, not willing to disturb them, but the long-haired one must have already heard; Vin turned his head to look at Robert and nodded slightly, implying he would keep an eye on the other two. Robert returned the nod, and slowly went back into the house.

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

_Follows after events in Chapter Seven _

Chris stood near the corral, leaning his elbows on the fence and watching horses. The sight of the magnificent creatures had always managed to bring peace to his mind, even in the darkest of times; and it was doing so now, almost a week after Chris's world view had been shattered by shocking revelations. By now, Chris had more or less come to terms with the truth, and had almost sorted out his feelings towards everyone involved. He thought about events from the past, and each person's involvement in them; and he thought about his future, and each person's possible involvement in it.

Buck and JD were the easiest to analyze; in all honesty nothing had changed between them, they were all still blood kin. And even if it had turned out they weren't, after all these years it wouldn't have mattered. And he'd already forgiven Joanne for keeping silent years ago.

Nathan was simple, too. He'd already known, from intuition and experience, that the healer was a good man to have on your side, both during battle and afterwards; Chris hadn't needed any additional reasons to believe in him. But the knowledge that riding with the Larabees was as much a family tradition as opening a clinic somewhere was, seemed to ease Natnan's mind somehow, and Chris was grateful for that.

And Vin, well, he was easy too. Their blood relation could serve as an explanation for the connection that had formed between the two of them the moment they locked their eyes on that dusty street in Barton's Creek; but the connection was there anyway, explanation or no. Though the fact that Vin had acknowledged they were a family, and had accepted Chris as the head of it, might make some things easier in the future, considering the tracker was proud and stubborn as hell.

'_Might be a family trait, Cowboy_,' Chris had to look around to make sure the familiar drawl was just his imagination – this time.

With Josiah things were a little bit more complicated. On the one hand, he was the only one who could tell Chris and the others about their parents, about where they all had come from. And he'd been telling, and Chris had been listening, and something inside him had been responding to these tales, had been accepting them as a part of his own past; not exactly memories, just the shadows of them, but it was enough.

On the other hand, Josiah had waited for twenty years, doing nothing to gain revenge or justice; was that a sign of weakness or a sign of strength? (Because Vin and Cherry had needed looking after, maybe because Vin and Chris had more right?) And then there was another concern when dealing with his uncle – whom did he see when looking at Chris, Chris himself or his father? _'I'm not Adam, Josiah'_, Chris had told the man a couple of days before; _'I know, Chris, and I'll do my best to remember it'_ had been an honest answer, and it would have to do for now. Hell, after all, Chris had already fought beside Josiah, so he had no doubt that they would work out whatever issues still remained between them.

And he would work out everything with his Dad...Robert, too. Surprisingly, but, after Chris had gotten over the initial shock and anger, which had been his customary way of dealing with strong emotions, he'd realized he wasn't mad at Robert. He didn't have the right after everything the man had done for him when he had absolutely no obligation to do so. Snatching Chris out of Davidson's grasp might have been the 'right thing to do', so to say, something any decent man with enough grit would have at least tried to do, but the rest was not. Robert Turner had had no obligations towards Adam Larabee and his offspring, he could have easily found a family to care for Chris, or just left him at some convent, and nobody would have reproached him.

Instead he'd claimed the boy as his own and built his life around him; probably denying himself the chance of a traditional family. Robert had given Chris a safe home and happy childhood, and Chris wasn't so blind or stubborn that he didn't appreciate that. He knew firsthand what was it like, to drown in hatred, to live only for revenge – and he was grateful he'd been spared that black pit growing up, even if it meant being lied to.

For twenty years Robert Turner had been his father, the father he'd loved, respected and had been proud of; those years couldn't be erased just because it turns out there was no blood relation between them. And then there was Adam Larabee, a man Chris had always admired and deeply respected, a man who'd died protecting his family and his people; protecting Josiah, Buck and the others, and... Chris. The most difficult task in this whole affair for Chris was to divide his filial feelings between the two men who could claim him as their own - without betraying one of them. It had taken him four days of hard thinking; along with a few talks with Buck, Vin and Josiah, and one talk with Robert; before Chris had realized he didn't have to choose, before he'd found a way to deal with this quandary.

Adam Larabee was his father; and it would be an honor to wear his name, to avenge his death and to carry on his ideals. Robert Turner had been and remained his 'Dad'; and nothing would change that, not even newly discovered blood ties.

There was only one person left with whom Chris still didn't know how to behave. Standish. A true son of Robert Turner, who should have grown up as such. Buck and Vin had filled Chris in on what he'd missed the night of the revelations; and though logically Chris knew he wasn't responsible for Robert's actions twenty years ago, he couldn't shake the feeling that his own happy childhood and adolescence were stolen from Standish. If Chris hadn't been a part, a major one, of Robert's life, then Robert would have found Maude Standish, or she would have contacted him – either way, Ezra wouldn't have grown up thinking "who-knows-what" of his father.

Since that night spent sitting together on the fallen tree and sharing a bottle, Chris had been consciously avoiding Ezra, because, well, he just didn't know what to say. Apologies seemed a little out of place, and besides Ezra and Robert should sort things out between themselves first, and Chris didn't want to interfere with that. Anyway, soon the rest of them would ride away, and Standish could take the place which should have been his from the start.

Their plans for the future were, more or less, clear already; as soon as Chris had accepted the truth, he knew he would be riding to Four Corners Valley – because he wanted to and because it was the right thing to do. Buck and JD would follow him, as always; for JD it was a great adventure, for Buck it was the opportunity to see where his mother had come from. For Josiah it was a long-awaited home coming; for Vin…Vin had always known his father had been murdered, and now that he knew the name of the killer nothing could stop him. Nathan had just stated he'd continue the family occupation – and that meant patching up Larabees.

Some sound distracted Chris from his musings, he looked around and saw Standish striding purposely in his direction from the house. Chris suppressed the urge to disappear, he couldn't avoid Ezra forever, they needed to talk. He just hoped like hell Standish knew how to begin this talk cause he sure didn't.

___

Ezra saw Chris standing at the corral, and suppressed the urge to hasten his strides. Chris had been avoiding him, true, but he wouldn't openly run. They would talk at last.

The story told by Robert and Josiah had turned Ezra's world upside down, but he'd already come to terms with the new picture. He had to admit it was a relief to know that his father wasn't a lying bastard, but a decent man who had been placed in a difficult situation and had made difficult choices. Ezra could respect him for those choices, and respect was a much more pleasant feeling than hatred or contempt. If only Maude had been less proud, but Ezra couldn't fault his mother for her choices either, he accepted them and respected them, even if it was himself who had to live through the consequences. What he couldn't and wouldn't accept, though, were the attempts made by other people to make the choice for him now, when he was an adult, fully able to choose for himself.

It seemed that everyone, from JD to Mr. Turner, had assumed that he would be staying after the Larabees rode out to Four Corners Valley; to take Chris's place as Robert Turner's son and the heir of the ranch. A lovely perspective, with just one flaw – Ezra didn't want to become Turner's heir. Well, if he'd been seven, it might have sounded like a dream come true, but not now; now he didn't want this. He wanted to ride with Chris and the others to the Valley, he wanted to take part in Davidson's demise, he didn't want to lose what he'd gained at the Seminole village. He didn't want to be left behind just because some thought it was for the best. Of course, there was always the possibility that Chris just didn't want him to ride with them, didn't trust or like him enough, but, if that was the case, Chris would have to say so directly without hiding behind some 'it's better for you' excuse. Ezra had become sick of that particular platitude by the time he was twelve.

Ezra reached the corral and leaned his elbows on the fence next to the other man.

"Chris," he addressed his sort-of brother. He wasn't all that comfortable with first names, but, after the truth had come out, last names had become a rather sore subject for everyone except Mr. Jackson, and singling him out would have been impolite.

"Ezra," the blond acknowledged. They both kept looking at the horses.

"Chris, there is something I need to tell you."

"I'm listening."

"I didn't mention it before, but it is important. Last year, I spent a couple of months in the town of Four Corners. I know the routine there and I know the people. I even met Davidson once or twice."

Chris threw him a quick look.

"The man doesn't play by the rules, Chris. You might need a cheat of your own."

Chris mentally went over Ezra's speech, trying not to miss any hidden layers in what the Southerner had said. The obvious – Ezra had some recent knowledge about Four Corners, that would be useful; the not-so obvious, he must have overheard his and Nathan's exchange of remarks about cheaters back in Blue Springs, but wasn't seemingly offended. And the most incredible – Ezra wanted to ride with them to the Valley?

"Yes," Ezra answered, and Chris realized he had asked that last bit out loud.

"I don't understand…"

"What exactly don't you understand?"

Chris turned to face Ezra. "I stole your place in life and you want to follow me to hell?!"

"You stole nothing from me, Chris," Ezra said earnestly, also turning, so he could face his questioner. "Davidson did."

The bewildered expression didn't leave Chris's face, and so Ezra continued: "If Davidson hadn't attacked Four Corners, then Mr. Turner wouldn't have had to hurry there. He would have spent enough time with my Mother for them both to become aware of her condition; and I have no reasons to doubt that he would have done right by her. Of course, there are no guarantees that their marriage would have worked out, but I fairly believe that they had a chance."

And even if their marriage hadn't lasted, Ezra now knew enough of Robert Turner to believe he would never have let his son go regardless. "Mr. Turner, apparently, loved his sister dearly, and held very much respect for the Larabee family, so it is very likely that, instead of settling here, he would have started some business, ranch or otherwise, inside the borders of the Valley. And all of us would have grown up together, getting on each other's nerves and driving our parents crazy. Davidson made that impossible, and he is the only one to blame. I realize that my score with him doesn't compare to yours or that of Vin, but I want my share of his hide!"

Ezra's choice of words made Chris chuckle in spite of himself, but what Ezra had said was serious. And what he hadn't said was even more important. Standish didn't just want his bit of revenge; he wanted a place amongst them, a place he had earned during that fight at the Seminole village. Chris cursed inwardly, suddenly realizing what exactly he'd been doing by assuming Ezra would stay at the ranch and take his place. He saw now that his reasons had been selfish; Ezra's staying at the ranch would have eased his own conscience, both about Ezra and about leaving Robert…but he'd forgotten to ask Ezra, and that was just wrong. But, fortunately, that mistake could be easily corrected. And, well, if Chris listened to his heart, and not to his head - which was totally lost in the labyrinth of different responsibilities and duties – he wanted Ezra to ride with them, and not just because they could really use a cheat. It just wouldn't be the same without the gambler.

"Ezra," Chris began quietly. "If you want to ride with us – you have a place. I was wrong to assume choices for you, and I'm sorry." That wasn't an expression Chris used often, and it wasn't easy, but Chris hoped that, maybe, if he apologized for this, he'd stop feeling guilty about things that actually weren't his fault.

"You serious?" Ezra breathed, and then immediately looked like he regretted the question.

"Yes, Ezra, I am." They had a big fight ahead of them and couldn't afford to have any misunderstandings getting between them; some things should be cleared up once and for all. "I'm serious and I mean it, Ez. You have a place among us, and I'd be glad to have you by my side on this ride. Wouldn't be the same without you." Chris outstretched his hand.

Ezra looked at the offered hand like it was a snake for a moment, but then smiled and took it in a firm handshake.

"Thank you, Chris. I believe I should find Vin now and compare our knowledge of Four Corners before further planning."

___

Robert Turner sat at his desk in his office, going through ranch paperwork, but it wasn't easy to focus, his mind always drifted to the boys. Almost two weeks had passed since the 'night of revelations', as JD called it; and Robert had to admit he'd gotten off easier than he'd expected. Chris had understood. Understood and accepted, and that had lifted a huge weight from Robert's shoulders. He hadn't lost the love and respect of his older son; and he had gained a chance to get to know the younger one.

Ezra had understood and accepted, too, and that was more than Robert had hoped for when he'd first realized exactly who Standish really was. Of course, they were nowhere near a true father-son relationship yet, but the mutual respect and sympathy were already there, and that was a good start. For a while, Robert had indulged himself with the idea that Ezra would stay at the ranch with him, filling the empty space Chris, Buck and JD would leave, but it had quickly become obvious that Ezra was a member of Chris's pack. Robert might have been jealous, if he hadn't already been proud as hell of Chris…

Though, after listening to the boys planning the coming fight, Robert had soon become oddly comforted by the fact that Ezra was going with them. Ezra's way of thinking was very much like his own, and having Ezra with Chris and the rest felt like the next best thing to Robert going himself.

The knock at the door interrupted Robert's futile attempts to get some work done. "Come in," he called and turned his chair to face the door. Chris entered and, as usual, came forward to sit on a low stool next to Robert's chair.

"Well?" Robert asked after a moment of silent.

"We leave in a week," Chris said quietly, looking at the floor. "We'll stay at the ranch of Vin's friends at first, it's near the border, and look things over from there."

"Good." Nothing followed, so Robert urged: "Chris, look at me."

The young man raised his head to meet the stare of his adopted father, and Robert confirmed his suspicions. Damn, they should have talked about this before. "Chris, listen to me," he said earnestly. "You shouldn't feel guilty about riding to your destiny, son. Since the moment we left Four Corners all those years ago I knew this day would come sooner or later, all's like it should be."

"I owe you so much, Dad," Chris's voice was thick with emotion. "How can I ever repay you?"

Robert smiled. "Well, that's easy. Send Davidson to hell where he belongs, raise the Larabee banner over Four Corners, figuratively speaking, and keep all your boys alive in the process. And then we'll be even."

Chris chuckled. "Well, I'll certainly try."

"It's your fight, son, and I can't help you there, but afterwards, when you start restoring the Valley to its former glory…I always wanted to settle there, you know."

"Knew I could count on you," Chris laid his hand on Robert's knee and became serious again. "I love you, Dad."

In response, Robert laid his hand on Chris's shoulder and squeezed it. "I love you too, son. I always will."

___

That week flew by like it was mere moments, Robert thought to himself, as he observed the fuss in the yard from his spot on the deck of the house. Tomorrow the boys would ride to Four Corners Valley, and he would stay in the empty house, praying and waiting for good news.

Someone cleared his throat nearby; Robert turned his head and saw Ezra, who'd just emerged from the house.

"Mr. Turner," he greeted.

"Ezra."

The young man had a piece of paper in his hand, which he laid on the table in front of Robert. Something, looking like an address, was written there in Ezra's precise handwriting.

"What is it?" Robert asked.

"This is the address of the current residence of my dear Mother, Mr. Turner," Ezra said and then grinned mischievously. "After all, you are the only man she ever refused to swindle money from."

Robert gasped. He'd often thought about Maude during these past weeks, but he hadn't dared to ask Ezra about her. And now the boy was giving him her address – it was a sign of the trust Ezra had in him. And it felt good. Robert took the paper, read the address and memorized it, and then carefully folded it and hid it in his vest pocket.

"Thank you, Ezra." The young man nodded and tipped his hat, and began to go down from the deck. He'd almost finished the stairs when Robert hailed him; Ezra stopped and turned to face his father, and Robert said earnestly:

"Ezra, I know I don't have the right, but I'm proud of you, son. And I sure want a chance to get to know you better, so, please, don't get yourself killed over there."

Ezra smiled in the way that made him look even younger than his years, and answered:

"Rest assured, sir, I have no intention of leaving for the great beyond anytime soon. I shall also endeavor", he added more seriously, "to do my best to stop any departure attempts made by my compatriots."

Robert smiled, but before he could say anything else, Buck bellowed for Ezra from somewhere near the barn, and the gambler hurried there.

___

At the crack of dawn on the next day, Robert stood on that same deck, following the seven riders, heading west, with his eyes.

"Keep an eye on them, okay?" he said to the sky.

The wind answered him; bringing with it the first batch of autumn leaves, and whispering that up there at least nine guardian angels were looking after the Seven.

_To be continued…_


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Two months later, late night in the town of Four Corners _

"Go get some rest, Nate, before you fall down," Chris said tiredly.

The healer sighed, looking at his two most seriously injured patients and then at Chris, who sat in a chair between the two beds. Chris had a point; Nathan was absolutely exhausted. He'd been on his feet for more than forty hours now, ever since the dawn of the day of the Second Battle of Four Corners; a battle they had won, but the price for that victory was still an open question.

Thank God, Vin had woken up briefly that evening, and now was just sleeping peacefully, regaining his strength; barring any setbacks, he should be okay. Ezra, on the other hand, wasn't out of the woods yet; his chances were good, but not as good as Nathan would have wanted…but all he could do now was wait, pray and try to get Ezra to drink enough, which wasn't an easy task, since the gambler was either always unconscious or delirious. Nathan was now only running on sheer willpower, and maybe he should have at least a couple of hours of sleep, if he wanted to be any good to his patients tomorrow, but…Chris must be absolutely worn out, too.

Miraculously, their leader didn't have a scratch on him; but Nathan doubted that he had had a single minute of rest over the last two days, between wrapping things up in town after the battle and worrying over the injured. Chris really should be lying in a bed, but it was obvious that nothing short of an earthquake would move him from here now. So…

"Maybe you're right," he said. "I'll lay down for a couple of hours, you…"

"I know, Nate – keep him from thrashing and try to get this," Chris pointed to a glass filled with herbal potion, "inside him."

"Yeah. Get me if he gets worse or if Vin wakes up." Chris nodded, and Nathan went to the next little room, to crash on the cot.

Chris looked at Ezra, listening to his troubled, heavy breathing, and started remembering the events that had led to this day…

_Somehow they managed to arrive at Four Corners Valley without encountering too much trouble on the road. Vin knew a hidden trail in the hills, and he led them inside the Valley without anyone noticing. The trail ended at a small ranch, where a tough old woman – one of the friends Vin had told them about – greeted them with a Spencer carbine. To their further surprise, before Vin had time to introduce them, the woman looked directly at Chris, put away her weapon and said: _

"_About time you came home, son. That Valley could use a Larabee, and someone really should kick Davidson's ass already." _

_Chris froze with his open mouth, much to Vin's amusement. Now, Josiah had warned him that he should be careful, because everyone in the Valley who was older than 35 would recognize him on sight, but he hadn't expected this. On the other hand, it answered all the questions about whether or not they could trust Nettie Wells. Once they dismounted and settled in, the woman's ranch became their headquarters. _

_First of all, they needed information, and they needed allies. Fortunately, Ezra had managed not to piss the town off during his previous visit, so he just rode in, renewed some acquaintances, and took up residence at the back table in the biggest saloon in town. JD, always a smart lad, had taken a couple of lessons in acting from Ezra, and, impersonating a 'harmless lone kid', sought a job in the town's livery and was hired quickly. Buck played 'the gun for hire', and within a week after his arrival in town he was on Davidson's payroll and on more than friendly terms with every working girl in town. Between JD's observations in the livery and his new friendship with telegraph boy, Ezra's poker games and Buck's lady friends, they knew pretty much everything that was going on in the town. _

_Meanwhile, Chris and the others scouted the area of the golden mine and paid a visit to every single settlement in the Valley, from lone ranches to a large village near the western border. Chris needed to make sure of things before choosing a plan of action; revenge would be served no matter what, but he would reclaim the Valley only if the people living there wanted it. But it seemed people were ready for 'kicking Davidson's ass', they just needed someone who would start it. _

_Funny, how it turned out that all the leaders of the community who didn't hesitate to offer the Seven their support and aid in all the planning, were women. Nettie Wells, 'the wizened old crone', who let them use her ranch as a home base, and her niece Casey, a girl no older than JD who was a brave spitfire and an excellent rider, she was their messenger between the town and the ranch. Rain, a young woman of mixed heritage, half-black and half-Indian, was the daughter of one of the village elders who'd been killed recently by Davidson's men; she and some of her people knew the area well enough to help Mother Nature along so that half of Davidson's patrols didn't come back whole. Mary Travis, a young widow printing the town's newspaper, and Inez Recillios, a wild beauty managing the saloon Ezra was staying at, both managed to feed Davidson's vanity just enough so that he was leaving them alone, playing the decent man and believing they were harmless. Well, that was his mistake. Nettie was right – the Valley really could use a Larabee. _

_Before long the plan was ready and set into motion. The rumors were their first weapon, rumors about the ghost of Adam Larabee coming back for revenge. Chris appeared in several places in his usual black, 'glaring people to death'; Vin and Josiah, with the help of Rain's people, set several "very mysterious accidents", and Nathan, who helped some poor victims of those accidents, made appropriate comments. Ezra, Buck, and JD were telling stories in the town – Ezra with deliberate skepticism, JD with fear, and Buck with confidence – each approach worked nicely. Soon enough some of Davidson's guns had left the Valley, and the rest were jumping at shadows. It was time for action. _

_Davidson's men were divided between the town and the golden mine, and a successful plan should have them attacking simultaneously in both places; so Ezra, with his love for explosion-like distractions, along with Nathan and some of the villagers, was going to take care of the mine, while Chris, and the rest of the group, would confront Davidson in town._

And, Chris had to admit, while trying to cool Ezra down with a wet cloth, their plan had worked near perfectly. The Second Battle of Four Corners would surely become a legend; Mary had already started it in the day's paper. Christopher Larabee walked down the Main Street like an Angel of Revenge, invulnerable to flying bullets… Chris chuckled. Yeah, he'd been invulnerable – with Josiah covering his back, Vin sniping with his rifle on the roof, and Buck and JD helping from cover nearby.

Actually, Chris had thought that a straight bullet was too easy for Davidson, but he hadn't wanted to stoop to the other man's level. And when he'd faced the man he'd remembered as the monster from his childhood nightmares - when he'd seen the sheer horror in those eyes, a horror that shook those hands so that they couldn't even raise a gun – he had felt satisfaction while squeezing that trigger. Moments after Davidson had fallen into the dirt everything had been over; but Chris was the only one of the Larabees who had remained unscathed.

Ezra and Nathan had encountered some trouble over at the mine, but Ezra's quick thinking had resolved it…and had landed him in this bed as a reward. The injured man became agitated, and Chris began whispering, trying to calm him down; not noticing the steel notes gradually appearing in his voice:

"Shhh, Ezra, it's okay, it's okay. And you know what, Ez? I'm not telling Dad I lost you, little brother, I'm not telling him that! So don't you dare die on me, Standish, you hear?"

Ezra's lips started moving, and Chris leaned closer, trying to distinguish words in the rasping.

"Won't… run," Ezra managed to get out between breaths. "Promised."

It took Chris a few seconds to understand what Ezra was referring to, but then he smiled at the gambler. "That you did." The older man put his left arm under Ezra's shoulders and gently lifted him a little, then he took the glass with herbs in his right hand and brought it to Ezra's lips. "Now drink it, Ez, nice and slow."

By the time the glass was empty, Chris's arms were almost totally numb, but that didn't matter. He carefully lowered Ezra back on the pillow, whispering "There, good boy." Ezra's mouth twitched again, and, though no sound actually came, Chris grinned. "Yeah, we'll pass that as a smart retort. Now try to sleep, it's far past your bedtime."

Chris felt a warm sunbeam on his face and jerked awake, realizing with dismay that he'd dozed off sometime in the night. Shifting his eyes, he saw Nathan fussing over Ezra.

"Nate?" he asked with trepidation.

The healer met his look with a broad smile. "Fever's broken, Chris. He's just asleep, and he'll be okay."

Chris's sigh of relief must have been heard at the other end of town; he turned his head to the right and saw that Vin was looking at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Cowboy, you look worse than I feel."

"Glad you've improved so," Chris deadpanned, and Vin grinned.

"Really, Chris, go find yourself some food and an empty bed. We'll keep an eye on Ez here."

"He has a point," Nathan added, before Chris could say anything.

"Yeah," Chris stood up, stifling a groan when his body reminded him he'd demanded too much from it lately. "You stay put," he glared at the sharpshooter. "Don't give Nate any trouble." Vin made a face, but nodded. Chris smiled at him and touched his shoulder briefly on his way out, then stopped for moment to look at Ezra, and, receiving a reassuring nod from Nathan, left the room.

He ran into Buck a couple of steps from the door; the man's left arm was in a sling, but, all in all, he looked fine.

"How are they?" Buck asked, hope evident in his voice – he must have read Chris's expression right.

"Better. Vin is awake, and Ezra's fever broke. Nathan reckons they'll both be okay."

"Good", a huge smile appeared on his mustached face. "And you'd better be going in search of food and sleep, stud."

"Another one," Chris muttered under his breath, but out loud he said tiredly: "I am, Bucklin. Just need to send Dad a wire first, now that they are out of danger."

Buck nodded and then something like a grimace of pain flickered across his face.

"How are you doing? And JD?" Chris asked, suddenly feeling guilty. He didn't want Buck or JD to think that he was replacing them with Vin and Ezra; a very stupid thought, really, must be the lack of sleep.

"The kid is okay, sleeping like a baby, and that's all he needs right now. I'm fine, or I will be once I'll catch up with Miss Lucy."

That made Chris grin, and Buck continued. "And, Chris, don't worry, you'll handle it."

"What?"

"Us. Now, mind you, I didn't say herding the six of us will be easy, but you'll manage. And we'll help you with the Valley."

Chris froze in place, stunned by Buck's insight; Buck laughed and slapped him on the shoulder with his good hand. "Go send that wire and rest, pard, we'll talk later." With that Buck entered the house currently working as a clinic; Chris shook himself and continued on his way to the telegraph station.

Chris walked through the awakening town. Traces of the recent battle were still evident, but the town was coming back to life; people greeted him with warm smiles, many came close to inquire after the injured, or if Chris and them needed anything. Chris felt rather strange; he was used to people looking at him with fear or awe, but the people of Four Corners now looked at him with hope. And damn, but the responsibility of that hope felt heavy on his shoulders. The battle with Davidson had been just the beginning; they still had a lot of work ahead of them. There were several gangs in the area, who'd been using Four Corners as their hideout every now and then; it would take some time to teach them that the situation had changed. And there was a lot of abandoned land in the Valley, which could use more settlers, and some abandoned businesses in town… But Buck was right – they would manage. They would keep peace in the Valley, and soon it would once again become the fair land of his childhood.

Chris reached the telegraph office, laid a hand on the doorknob, and turned to survey the town. His town. His attention stopped on Josiah coming down from the porch of a half-ruined church and heading towards the temporary clinic; the man was noticeably limping, but otherwise looked okay. He sent his eyes back to the church where several generations of his ancestors had been married, where five of the Seven, including himself, had been baptized. The oldest Larabee had already mentioned his plans for restoring the church, and suddenly Chris had a vision of many more marriages and christenings taking place there…and, for the first time in years, he saw a future beyond the next fight and believed in it. Smiling, he entered the building to send an important message.

"Mr. Turner! Mr. Turner! A wire from Four Corners Valley came!" Jim, the current telegraph boy in Ghostville, began shouting the minute he saw the Big House of the Turner Ranch and its owner sitting on the deck. He came galloping up and handed the wire over without dismounting; Robert, suppressing the tremble in his hands with effort, slowly unfolded the paper.

An elegant blonde woman in her late thirties heard the boy's shouts from inside the house; she hurried outside, but stopped a step away from Robert's chair, not daring to come closer, dreading whatever news the wire might have brought. But Robert turned his head to her and smiled broadly, and a moment later she was hugging his shoulders from behind, and they were rereading the contents of the wire together:

_WE DID IT STOP BOYS SAFE STOP LETTER FOLLOW STOP CHRIS LARABEE_.

"So what happens now?" she asked in a soft southern-accented voice, feeling a weight of constant worry being lifted from her.

"I once promised to show you the most beautiful place in the world, remember? Now it's time to fulfill that promise. And our boys could always use someone near to hand out pieces of advice, don't you think?"

**The End****!**

_PS Yes, it's finally finished! Thanks to all of you who has been waiting and reading! So far I don't have any ideas for future stories in this AU, but if anyone would like to write in it, you're welcome! :)_


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